Chapter 1
Cornwall, April 2011
‘Please, Will.’
‘Lucy, we’re already late. If you girls hadn’t taken so long packing up . . .’
‘It’s not far on the map – look.’
‘I can’t when I’m driving, can I?’ Will’s eyes didn’t flicker from the road ahead.
‘There’ll be a sign to Saint Florian soon,’ Lucy said. ‘I showed you on the way down, remember? Oh, Will, it’s only a few miles to the coast. Come on, please. I did say I wanted to go there.’ She tried not to sound petulant.
‘And we’ve been busy doing other things all week. Are you going to blame me for that?’
‘I’m not blaming you for anything. I just want to see the place.’
‘Listen, Lu, we’ll go another time, how about that? Jon says let’s come again in the summer.’ As if to settle the matter, Will touched a paddle on the steering wheel and rock music pulsed through the car, drowning all possibility of conversation.
Lucy traced a finger along the wobbly line of the Cornish coast, with its promise of smugglers’ coves and wild headlands, and privately wondered if there would be a second visit. She’d hardly known Jon and Natalia, the other couple; they were friends of Will’s, and she hadn’t even been seeing Will very long. She sneaked a look at him and her pessimism grew. That scowl was becoming an all-too-recognizable reaction to being crossed. He was twenty-seven, as she was, but despite his longish hair and the attractive, unshaven look, which in London she’d taken to mean laidback and open to new ideas, he hadn’t turned out that way at all. As for the others, Jon, like Will, was obsessed with finding the best surfing beaches, Natalia with shopping, and Lucy was the only one prepared to walk the cliffs if more than one drop of rain was falling. But as the newcomer to the group, and lacking her own transport, she’d had to comply with their plans. She folded her arms and stared out of the window, trying to ignore the ugly music.
Will glanced at her and turned down the volume. ‘You look pretty miserable,’ he remarked.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so desperate to get home.’
He shrugged. ‘I want to get the drive over with. Anyway, there are things to do. I’ve booked the editing suite this week and I need to go over the brief.’ Will was a freelance film editor, and Lucy worked for a television production company as a production assistant.
‘You’re not thinking about work already, Will?’
‘You’re lucky having next week off.’
‘I feel I’ve earned it . . . Oh, look!’ A road sign had come into view. Lucy sat up straighter. ‘The turn-off. Please, Will. It’ll only take twenty minutes, I promise. Let’s go, please.’
Will, who was a little alarmed by Lucy’s impetuous side, gave in and swung the driving wheel.
‘Thank you,’ Lucy breathed, touching his arm. His forehead creased into a frown.
They drove on in silence, the narrow road winding between high hedges. Several times they were forced to pull in to let cars pass from the opposite direction, Will’s fingers tapping the steering wheel.
‘How much further?’ he growled.
‘Just another half-mile. Oh, look, the sea!’
They had crossed a plateau and reached the point where the land sloped down to a horseshoe-shaped bay. To the left, high cliffs curved out to a headland with a lighthouse. The view to the right was blocked by a line of Scots pines crowded with rooks’ nests. Ahead, the road dipped steeply towards a cluster of whitewashed houses, presumably the beginning of the town.
Another sign, this one pointing right, along a lane behind the pines: ‘The Beach and Carlyon Manor,’ Lucy read aloud. ‘Will, stop! It’s Carlyon!’
Will checked his mirror before jamming on the brakes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Lu. I thought you wanted the town.’
‘I do – but Carlyon Manor, don’t you see? That’s where Granny lived when she was little.’
Will muttered something impatient under his breath, but turned right anyway. Lucy gazed out of the window at the wild daffodils in the hedgerows and her spirits rose.
Half a mile on, they came to a fork in the road. A white noticeboard detailing parking charges pointed left to the beach. ‘Right again,’ Lucy said, and the car swerved between a pair of granite posts and along a deep lane, where newly ploughed fields spread away on either side. Then came another bend and a short driveway to the left, to where a pair of high, wrought-iron gates was set in a long stone wall.
‘Stop in here,’ Lucy said, and Will pulled the car to a halt.