Secrets at the Last House Before the Sea

by Liz Eeles

  ‘Driftwood House?’ Cecilia’s laugh was tinkly, as though she’d been practising it. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’ Rosie asked, determined now to say her piece, even though she desperately needed time to think things through. This hadn’t been her intention when she’d set off in her mother’s rusty car this afternoon. ‘Driftwood House has five bedrooms, six if you convert the attic, and all have a fantastic view of the cliffs and the sea, or across the land towards Dartmoor.’

  ‘Why would I go to the trouble of converting a dilapidated house?’

  Because its unique charm and memories would be preserved. Rosie took a deep breath and replied, levelly: ‘Because it would save you money.’ She was wholly unsure of this fact but guessed that appealing to Cecilia’s pocket might be the most effective way of persuading her. ‘And visitors would clamour to stay in a house with such a history.’ She remembered Nessa’s words on the clifftop that morning. ‘People go mad for that retro stuff.’

  ‘The building is not particularly old and has a fairly unremarkable history,’ said Cecilia sniffily, ‘unless you’re going to claim it housed wreckers who waved lanterns from those cliffs and lured sailors to their deaths on the rocks.’

  ‘No, the house definitely isn’t that old, but it still has its own charm, with lots of original features that people love,’ said Rosie, thinking that Cecilia, so keen to knock things down, seemed rather a wrecker herself.

  ‘Why are you so bothered about what happens to the house when you’ve moved to Andalusia anyway?’

  ‘Driftwood House has been a part of Heaven’s Cove for decades. And my mother loved the house and would hate for it to be demolished.’ And so would I, she thought, ruefully.

  ‘I see.’ Cecilia turned her back and ran her fingers along the carved mantelpiece. ‘I’ve heard what you have to say and I’m sorry for your loss but I’m afraid sentiment should never get in the way of a business decision. Converting Driftwood House into a hotel would be too big a job.’

  ‘Does it have to be a fancy hotel? What about a guesthouse?’

  Cecilia turned to Rosie, her face aghast. ‘A guesthouse? A seaside guesthouse?’ She rolled the words around her mouth with distaste.

  ‘An upmarket guesthouse, obviously, with magnificent views and warm and cosy when the storms roll in.’

  Warm and cosy was pushing it. Rosie knew all too well how the wind whistled through the eaves, billowing the curtains through cracks in the window frames. But she was suddenly more desperate than ever to save Driftwood House from the Eppings. It won’t bring back your mum, said a little voice in her head, but she ignored it, her breathing growing shallow and her cheeks reddening.

  Cecilia shook her head but Charles was staring at Rosie. ‘I haven’t been near the house for years. What state is it in, and how much would it cost, in your view, to get Driftwood House up to scratch?’ he asked.

  ‘Surely you can’t be giving her ridiculous idea any consideration,’ huffed Cecilia, but Charles ignored her, all of his attention focused on Rosie.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure of the cost. But it would be much less expensive than demolishing the house and building a new hotel. And transporting so many building materials up such a steep cliff would be very difficult.’

  ‘I’m not prepared to spend any money on this outlandish notion that wouldn’t work,’ snapped Cecilia, standing in front of Rosie with her arms folded. ‘The house has become shabby and dilapidated. You might not have seen it for years, Charles, but I visit the village occasionally.’

  ‘What about…?’ said Rosie, her mind whirling. ‘What about if I start the work myself, to show you how brilliant Driftwood could be as a guesthouse?’

  The look of incredulity on Cecilia’s face showed she thought Rosie had taken leave of her senses. But Charles tilted his head to one side and stood so still he hardly seemed to be breathing.

  ‘Charles?’ Cecilia’s voice was brittle.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm…’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, it’s a ridiculous idea which will only delay our project.’

  ‘While you’re finding out about planning permission and all the other things that need doing, I can spruce up the house to show you its potential,’ said Rosie, feeling as if she was floating high above, listening to herself saying all this daft stuff.

  She needed to get back to Spain, back to Matt and reality. She glanced out at the bleak moors surrounding the Eppings’ vast lonely house, at the rapidly greying sky that pressed down like a suffocating blanket. Only that morning, Matt had sent her a photo of himself drinking coffee under an orange tree, its delicate white blossom glowing in the sun. She needed to get back to her life so it was a good job her frankly ridiculous idea was about to be dismissed.

  ‘Four weeks.’ Charles stepped in front of his wife, whose mouth snapped shut. ‘We’ll give you that long to make your changes at Driftwood House. The tenancy would expire in around three weeks regardless, so that’s an extra week or so for you to work with.’

  ‘You’re letting your heart rule your head, and you know that’s never a good idea,’ snapped Cecilia, but Charles held Rosie’s gaze.

  ‘You have exactly four weeks to change our minds, Ms Merchant.’

  An hour later, Rosie pulled her car into a layby on the crest of the hill above Heaven’s Cove, rolled down her window and gazed at the village below.

  Cottages were clustered around the High Street and the church where her mother was buried, and the deep-blue sea was scattered with boats. They bobbed up and down on the waves while seagulls, white dots, wheeled overhead. The pretty, old-world charm of Heaven’s Cove drew in tourists like dye on litmus paper. So it was rather ironic that she, born and bred in such a beautiful place, had been so eager to leave it when she was growing up.

  Why had she just agreed to spend the next month here, doing up a house that would no doubt be consigned to rubble in the end?

  ‘What am I doing, Mum?’ Rosie’s words sounded dull in the empty car. ‘Saving the house won’t bring you back, and the longer I stay here, the more I realise that I never properly knew you at all. You never told me about the lease on the house, or the mysterious J, who knew you well enough to call you Saffy. What other secrets were you keeping?’

  Rosie stopped talking to herself and turned her attention back to the view. Driftwood House was just visible from here, standing watch above the village, and she could almost imagine the house breathing in its lonely spot on the cliffs. No matter how confused she was, or nervous about what else she might uncover, its fate was in her hands.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Liam, what time is my dental appointment? Will you drive me into town? I don’t want to be late.’

  Liam stopped sweeping the yard and sighed. He was getting worse. ‘We talked about this earlier, Dad. Your appointment was cancelled a couple of days ago so you don’t have to worry about going anywhere. Anyway, it’s half past five and the day’s almost over so you can relax.’

  Robert Satterley, tall like his son, with wiry steel-grey hair and pale blue eyes, zipped up his padded jacket that was far too warm for spring. ‘Are you sure about my appointment?’

  ‘Quite sure. They sent us a letter, rearranging it for next week.’

  ‘Did you show me the letter?’

  ‘Yes, at lunchtime.’

  ‘Ah, I don’t remember.’ His strong face crumpled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise, Dad. We all forget things, don’t we, Mum?’

  ‘What’s that?’ His mum shook the tablecloth out of the door, scattering crumbs everywhere.

  ‘Dad forgot his dental appointment had been postponed and was worried he’d be late.’

  His mum, small, round and rosy-cheeked, patted her husband’s arm. ‘You’ve been helping me turn out the back room instead, Bob. Sorting out all those issues of Farmers Weekly that you’ve been stockpiling. Shall we do another half hour before tea?’

  ‘If t
hat’s what you want, Pam.’

  She led him inside, after a worried glance at Liam, who gave her a reassuring smile, even though he was as concerned as she was.

  Everyone forgot things, so he’d convinced himself at first that his Dad’s short-term memory lapses were normal for a man in his seventies. That was until he’d found his father, a few months ago, sitting in the tractor he’d driven for years, with no clue how to start it up. Since then he’d got gradually worse. Another visit to the GP was needed soon.

  Liam turned to continue his sweeping and almost fell over Billy as he tried to wind between his legs.

  ‘Billy, stop getting under my feet, for goodness’ sake.’

  He hadn’t meant to raise his voice but this week was proving to be even more trying than he’d anticipated. When the border collie flattened his ears and mooched off into a corner of the farmyard, his belly low to the ground, Liam felt a whoosh of shame. Billy wasn’t the reason for his bad temper so why should he get the backlash?

  ‘Sorry, boy.’ He fished in his pocket for a dog biscuit and knelt down in front of him. ‘Am I forgiven?’

  Faithful Billy – what would he do without his companionship? – licked at the biscuit before gobbling it down in one, his tail wagging. Liam had just patted him on the back when a husky voice in his ear made him jump.

  ‘What on earth have you done that needs forgiveness? Nothing too naughty, I hope.’

  Liam got to his feet while Katrina put her hands on her hips and laughed. She was very attractive when she laughed, with her big grey eyes and her dimples. Hell, she was attractive any time.

  ‘You made me jump, Katrina. I didn’t hear you approaching.’

  ‘I’m very light on my feet.’ Her scarlet toenails were poking out of her strappy sandals. Dee used to wear very similar sandals, Liam remembered, until she trod in a massive dollop of manure and complained she couldn’t get rid of the smell. She threw them away in the end, presumably adding that to the list of things she hated about the farm.

  ‘Come back to me, Liam. You’re miles away.’

  When Katrina pushed her beautiful face closer to his, a heady scent that spoke of spices and faraway places wafted between them. Her lips, the same colour as her toenails, were so close. He pulled back and pushed a hand through his fringe.

  ‘I’m fine. How can I help you, Katrina?’

  ‘I was in the area and thought I’d call in to buy half a dozen eggs and to check how you’re doing.’

  ‘I’m doing well, thanks. I’ll get you those eggs.’

  When he came back a few minutes later, she was still standing in the yard. Most visitors gazed towards the sea which glittered in the distance, across the fields. But Katrina was staring at the farmhouse that had been in his family for generations. It was quite a pressure, keeping the farm going now that his parents were getting older and his dad was unwell. His sister, Mel, showed no interest in farming and was happily settled in Exeter with a husband and two small children. She often advised him to let the farm go but his parents would hate living anywhere else. Plus, he’d grown to love this land. Its permanence grounded him these days.

  ‘That was quick.’ Katrina looked up at him from under her long, dark lashes.

  ‘The hens have been laying well this week. Will these do?’ Liam handed over the box and watched as Katrina inspected the brown-shelled eggs. Her mouth curved into a smile when she spotted him staring at her.

  ‘Are you quite sure you’re all right, Liam? It’s been… well, it’s been a difficult week for you.’

  ‘You’re telling me. But this time of year is always manic on the farm. It’s a good job I’ve got John Harbin’s lad, Tom, helping me out. He’s been a godsend.’

  Katrina blinked. ‘No, I meant…’ She rested her hand on his arm and tilted her head. ‘… The anniversary. Your wedding anniversary that never was,’ she added for good measure, as though he hadn’t thought of little else for the last twelve months.

  ‘I’m absolutely fine, Katrina. There’s no need to worry.’

  ‘But I do worry about you, Liam. I think about you all the time, here in this big house, looking after your parents. You know that I’m here to help in any way that I can, don’t you?’

  Moving her hand upwards, she started gently massaging his shoulder. She was going to kiss him, that was obvious. Lean into him, put her arms around his neck and kiss him. It would be very pleasant. He was quite sure of that. And maybe, if he persuaded his parents to go out for a walk before tea, it would lead to more in his bedroom, with its white-painted furniture and floral duvet cover that Dee had left behind. He hadn’t kissed anyone since Dee and it would be good to feel… something. Something positive, rather than the sadness, humiliation, anger and anxiety that had become the four horsemen of his personal apocalypse.

  Katrina moved closer but her gaze suddenly shifted from his face to the lane behind him.

  ‘Great timing,’ she murmured, stepping back and dropping her hand. ‘You seem to have another customer, Liam, and I do believe it’s Weirdo Rosie Merchant.’ A perfectly plucked eyebrow disappeared into her choppy fringe.

  It was Rosie, in jeans and a blue T-shirt, with her mother’s wicker basket over her arm. Liam breathed out slowly, unsure whether his overwhelming emotion was irritation at the interruption or relief.

  ‘Long time no see. Come on in then,’ urged Katrina, while Rosie hesitated in the farm gateway, her trainers sinking in mud from the tractor’s wheels.

  ‘I don’t want to interrupt.’

  ‘Too late for that,’ said Katrina, under her breath, her face still stretched into an unnatural smile.

  ‘You can come in. It’s fine,’ said Liam, uncomfortably aware that she’d no doubt seen him and Katrina about to… who knew what? ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I can come back later.’

  ‘No need.’ Katrina pushed the eggs into the yellow tote bag she had over her shoulder. ‘I was just leaving anyway so you can come in. I promise I won’t bite.’ When she laughed, colour flooded Rosie’s face, giving her golden skin a ruby glow. And there was the tightening of her jaw again.

  Liam stepped forward. ‘Were you after some eggs or vegetables, Rosie? I’ve got cabbages and carrots in the barn.’

  ‘Anything like that will do. Thanks.’

  ‘Follow me and I’ll show you what I’ve got.’

  Katrina gave him her prettiest pout. ‘I’ll leave you to it, Liam, but promise me that I’ll see you again soon.’

  Everyone saw everyone all the time in Heaven’s Cove so the promise was immaterial, but Liam nodded anyway. That seemed to satisfy Katrina, who leaned forward and briefly pressed her lips against his cheek. ‘Bye,’ she murmured, huskily, her breath warming his face.

  She paused as she passed Rosie. ‘How are you doing? We haven’t spoken for… it must be years. You look well. Have you lost a little weight? Well done, you.’ Liam wasn’t one for nuance but even he caught the condescension in her voice.

  ‘I’m on the bereavement diet,’ muttered Rosie, running her hand over her hips, which looked perfectly fine to Liam. She was a little bigger than stick-thin Katrina but her gentle curves suited her.

  ‘Yes, I heard about your mum, of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to the funeral but I had a Zoom call I just couldn’t get out of. Talking of which, I’d better get home and back to work. Have you heard that I’m running my own business now?’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Really?’ Katrina flicked her shiny brown hair over her shoulder. ‘I provide marketing solutions for entrepreneurial businesses.’

  ‘That sounds interesting.’

  ‘It is. And rather lucrative. Right, I’m off. See you soon, Liam.’ With one last smouldering glance at him, she sauntered off up the lane.

  ‘Were you expecting Katrina to be at your mum’s funeral?’ asked Liam when Rosie wandered over, the hem of her jeans splattered in mud. Hopefully it was nothing worse. Billy could be a little in
discriminate.

  ‘No, not at all. She doesn’t like me much and she didn’t really know Mum.’

  A car droned in the distance as a silence stretched between them. Liam was the first to break it. ‘Did you want some veg, then?’

  ‘That would be great, thanks.’

  She followed him into the barn and studied his recently harvested crop: fat Savoy cabbages, spring greens, and carrots and parsnips still coated in red soil.

  ‘What do you fancy?’ he asked, breathing in the familiar smell of damp earth and sawdust.

  ‘A cabbage will be fine. Look…’

  When Rosie turned to him, his fingers itched to brush back the sun-streaked fringe that was flicking into her eyes. She looked tired and slightly battered this afternoon, as though life was too much for her.

  ‘I wasn’t terribly sympathetic when I saw you near the church first thing this morning, but I didn’t realise it was such a difficult day for you. I found out later, though I don’t want you to think I was gossiping because I wasn’t. Nessa mentioned it when I said that I’d seen you. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I didn’t know about the anniversary or I would have made allowances and not been so… snippy.’

  Liam wasn’t sure he wanted people making allowances. He’d soon tired of the pity in locals’ eyes when they asked him how he was doing, and the barely disguised glee on some so-called friends’ faces that he’d been taken down a peg or two. But it was kind of Rosie to care. And kinder still for her to come and apologise.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I was slightly grumpy, to be fair.’

  ‘Only slightly?’ A slow smile lit up Rosie’s face, making her eyes shine.

  ‘OK, very grumpy. But I do have an excuse for not being on my best behaviour.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Yeah, we make quite a sorry pair.’ Liam dropped two of the largest cabbages into the basket on Rosie’s arm.