‘Cliff, you’re a marvel,’ Rachel said. ‘You picked the perfect spot for our summer holidays.’
She and the Truemans were eating sandwiches and drinking lemonade under blue skies in the garden of their new home. This was the unoriginally named Bay View, the bungalow on Beggarman’s Lane. Trueman had found the place after coming up on the train for a quick reconnaissance. He’d wasted no time in putting down a month’s rent by way of deposit.
At dawn the four of them had left Gaunt House for the long drive north. Trueman loved driving and Rachel’s Rolls-Royce Phantom was built for speed, so they had made excellent time. Within smelling distance of their deckchairs was a rose bed full of fragrant yellow and pink blooms. To their left, they could see the top of the lighthouse above the trees. Beyond the rose bed and the timber fence, the ground rolled down towards the sea. The water was so calm it was hard to imagine ships being wrecked on these very shores.
The big man finished his drink. ‘The agent bit my hand off. You wanted a house by the cliffs and by a stroke of luck this place was available.’
‘Close to where the murder in Bellamy’s premonition is supposed to be committed,’ she murmured. ‘Good to be handy for the scene of the crime.’
‘Load of bunkum. Now we know the fellow’s a liar and a thief, we can be sure he made that story up.’
Jacob had telephoned before they left London with the news of Bellamy’s embezzlement from his employer in Bangor.
Rachel shook her head. ‘I agree there are holes in the story, but that doesn’t mean everything he said was a complete fabrication.’
‘Surely you don’t believe he had some kind of vision?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind. There’s a reason why he went to see Jacob. I’d be extremely sceptical if he’d asked for money. But making a few pounds doesn’t seem to be his motive.’
‘You’re not telling me Bellamy was simply trying to be a good citizen?’
‘Unlikely, I agree, but we mustn’t allow scepticism to lead us to jump to conclusions. He’s playing a long game.’
‘He’s a charlatan.’
‘Even so.’ Rachel shaded her eyes from the sun. ‘The sea is gorgeous, isn’t it? To think we’re so close to Paradise.’
Hetty paused in her study of the local guidebook. ‘Ridiculous name for pleasure grounds.’
‘Paradise is close to the nudists,’ Martha murmured. ‘Almost cheek by jowl.’
‘You obviously find them fascinating,’ Rachel said. ‘Do you want to investigate more closely? Find out whether any of them have murder in mind?’
Martha put down her glass and gave a mischievous grin. ‘I bet one or two of them have something to hide.’
Hetty shut the guidebook. ‘Something that would be better off hidden, more like.’
‘Doesn’t everyone have something to hide?’ Rachel said. ‘Like The Great Hallemby and his questionable past.’
‘I’ve never had my fortune told,’ Martha said in a plaintive tone. ‘It might be fun to have my palm read or peer into a crystal ball.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Hetty said. ‘Codswallop. Baloney. It’s absolutely—’
Rachel laughed. ‘But none of that means Bellamy can’t have stumbled across something sinister.’
Trueman shook his head. ‘I bet he just wants to see his name in the papers.’
‘Why go to such lengths to talk to a chief crime correspondent? There’s no shortage of journalists and newspapers in the north-west. If he is desperate to see his photograph in the press, he’d have a better chance if a reporter ran a story with a local angle.’
‘The Clarion has a huge circulation,’ Martha said. ‘He claims to be a devoted reader…’
‘Flannel. There must be more to it than that. His letter to Jacob was odd.’
‘Of course it was. He was talking about a murder that hadn’t been committed.’
‘Not only that. The letter was carefully written and very much to the point.’
‘He wanted to catch Jacob’s attention.’
‘I think he was trying to do something more. Setting out the basic facts in a concise and sober way.’ Rachel ran a finger around the rim of her glass, an old habit when wrestling with a knotty problem. ‘Almost as if there needed to be a record for posterity.’
‘You think Bellamy’s afraid someone will kill him to shut him up?’
‘Possibly.’
‘So the letter would be a kind of posthumous way of saying I told you so?’
Rachel laughed. ‘Remember what Jacob told us. When he said he was willing to consult his editor about investigating further, Bellamy was less than overjoyed. Why?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Martha said. ‘No, in fairness, it’s bound to be much better.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself.’ Rachel smiled. ‘You deserve to have your fortune told. Who knows what you’ll discover when The Great Hallemby looks into his crystal ball?’
‘Maybe I’ll hear something about a tall, dark, handsome stranger coming into my life and sweeping me off my feet.’
Rachel laughed. ‘How about an impetuous young journalist with floppy fair hair?’
‘You will have your little joke,’ Hetty muttered.
‘You do like Jacob, Martha?’ Rachel said.
Martha didn’t blush. ‘I know he has his faults.’
‘You can say that again,’ Hetty said. ‘I never knew anyone with such a knack for turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘He’s a lot of fun. And rather sweet, in a hapless sort of way.’ Martha turned to Rachel. ‘But you’re the one he’s got his eye on.’
Hetty shook her head. ‘Now you are joking. Even that boy must have more sense than to set his cap at Rachel.’
‘He’s devoted to her, anyone can see. Follows her around like a faithful spaniel.’
‘Because he wants to get headlines out of her. A front-page story, that’s what he really cares about.’
‘You’re such a cynic,’ Rachel said.
‘And you’re not?’ Hetty demanded.
Rachel was amused. ‘Jacob’s heart is in the right place, even if his brain sometimes goes absent without official leave. It’s not that he isn’t bright. On the contrary. He’s one of the smartest journalists in Fleet Street.’
‘That’s not saying much for the rest of them.’
‘Jacob’s trouble,’ Rachel said calmly, ‘is that he lets himself get carried away by the thrill of the chase for a scoop.’
‘Bull in a china shop,’ Trueman said.
‘Yes, but he always treats Martha with sensitivity and respect.’ She turned to her friend. ‘That’s why I wondered if you were in the mood to offer him some encouragement.’
Martha gave a faint shake of the head and touched the side of her face. When she was in her teens, a vicious man had thrown acid at her. Rachel’s wealth, inherited from the late Judge Savernake, had paid for surgery with Europe’s leading specialist in facial disfigurement. Although the treatment was pioneering and protracted, the results so far were better than any of them had dared to hope. The scars on her cheek were less obvious now and there was every reason to hope that further operations would continue to diminish them. For all Martha’s natural vivacity, the damage done to her confidence had been at least as profound as the cruel attempt to ruin her beauty.
‘It’s impossible,’ she said.
‘Nothing’s impossible.’ Rachel subjected her friend to a piercing stare. ‘Oh well, I won’t harp on. But… don’t dismiss the idea out of hand.’
‘For a moment,’ Martha said calmly, ‘I thought you were going to say but you know I’m right.’
Hetty shifted in her deckchair, anxious to change the subject. ‘I’m glad to be out by the coast again. London is all very well, but pea-soup fog is nothing like threads of mist over the water. I miss the sea breezes.’
‘You mean the gales howling across Gaunt?’ Rachel asked. ‘Waves lashing against the rocks? Torrential rain and gnawing cold?’
‘I’m not saying it was Paradise,’ Hetty replied.
‘No, that’s here in Hemlock Bay, remember?’ Martha stretched out her arms. ‘I like this place. It’s so peaceful and pretty.’
‘Everything in the garden is lovely?’ Rachel asked with a faint smile.
Martha waved at the roses. ‘The perfume is delightful. Why would anyone want to commit murder in a place like this?’
‘Things are often not what they seem.’ Rachel pointed towards the cliffs. ‘See those wild plants?’
‘The white flowers, clustering like an umbrella?’ Martha nodded. ‘Hetty is right. It’s good to be surrounded by nature again.’
‘Let’s take a closer look.’
Rachel unbolted the gate in the garden fence. Martha followed her down a grass track that led towards the path skirting the top of the cliff. Rachel bent over to sniff the wild flowers. When Martha did the same, she recoiled in dismay.
‘Not as pleasant as they look?’ Rachel asked.
‘No!’ Martha coughed. ‘They stink of dead mice!’
‘Hemlock,’ Rachel said. ‘At a glance, you might mistake it for parsley and be tempted to have a nibble, but I don’t recommend it. The flowers and leaves are poisonous. Hemlock grows here in abundance, but it’s one of the deadliest weeds you can find.’
‘It looks so innocent.’
Rachel indicated their surroundings. From here they could see a brightly painted shelter and the deserted cliff path. Gulls were flying overhead and fishing boats were visible in the distance. A scene so picturesque it might have featured on a railway advertising poster.
‘Like Hemlock Bay?’ She shook her head. ‘There’s something wrong here. Never mind the stench from the plants. Can’t you smell danger in the air?’
*
‘To live in a lighthouse! How utterly wonderful!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘It really is like a dream come true.’
Her girlish exuberance prompted a smile from Virginia Penrhos. Rachel had walked along Beggarman’s Lane to get her bearings and then doubled back to the cliff path. Close to the lighthouse, she’d sat down on a convenient boulder. Taking a sketchbook and pencil from her bag, she’d set about drawing the scene in front of her. Every now and then she stood up and made an ostentatious study of the view from a different angle. After a quarter of an hour, the door at the base of the lighthouse was flung open. Virginia emerged, clad in a navy blue smock splashed with paint, her curiosity provoked beyond endurance.
‘Yes, we’re very lucky.’
‘You live here with your family?’ Rachel asked.
‘With my friend Ffion Morris. We’ve rented the lighthouse for the summer. It suits me perfectly. Such glorious views. I’m Virginia Penrhos, by the way.’
She thrust out a bony hand.
‘Rachel Savernake, delighted to meet you.’ A moment’s pause, and then she put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. ‘Not the Virginia Penrhos?’
The artist laughed. ‘As far as I know, I’m the one and only.’
‘How utterly marvellous! I can’t quite believe my luck.’
‘Goodness, Miss Savernake, you’re a real tonic for my morale. Yesterday I met a chap who has just moved here and he made it plain that not only had he never heard of me, he had no interest whatsoever in my art.’
‘How extraordinary!’ Rachel gushed. ‘To meet you in person is the most enormous thrill. And on my very first day in Hemlock Bay!’
‘How long are you here for?’
‘I’ve taken a short-term lease on Bay View.’
‘Another splendid situation. And you’re an artist too?’
‘Oh no, I simply enjoy a little amateur sketching.’ Rachel closed her sketchbook. ‘I’m a dabbler, not a gifted painter like you.’
‘You flatter me, Miss Savernake.’ Virginia subjected her to a measuring gaze. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that such a handsome young woman would have much interest in a minor surrealist.’
‘You’re far too modest.’ Rachel was all doe-eyed innocence. ‘The fact is, I was drawn to this part of the world by your painting of this very bay.’
‘Good Lord, that’s extraordinary. Hemlock Bay is… well, let’s say a personal favourite of mine. So you’re familiar with it?’
‘More than that,’ Rachel said. ‘I found it so irresistible that I bought it for my house in London.’
Virginia’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? I mean, I heard from the dealer that he’d sold it to a connoisseur…’
‘I don’t claim any sort of expertise,’ Rachel said in a small voice, ‘but I loved it so much I was desperate to add it to my collection.’
‘Heavens, I wasn’t doubting your word. I’m just taken aback that a young woman like you would—’
‘As I say, I’m a devotee of your work.’ Rachel bowed her head. ‘I was more fortunate than I deserve to come into a large inheritance which meant I could afford to acquire such a sophisticated work of art.’
Virginia looked her up and down, and seemed to like what she saw. ‘Would you care to come in, Miss Savernake? Ffion will shortly be making afternoon tea, and you’re welcome to join us.’
‘How very kind.’
The older woman turned and strode out towards the door of the lighthouse. Rachel skipped after her. So far, she thought, so good.
*
‘On such a pleasant day, we ought to take tea outside,’ Virginia said, ‘but as you can see, one drawback of such a unique building is the lack of a garden. I can’t recommend sitting on the rocks down below. The views are superb, but not worth risking your life for. Besides, you can see so much more from the top of the lighthouse.’
They were in the lantern room. Virginia had transformed the circular space into a tiny studio, taking full advantage of the light. A blank canvas rested on an easel in the middle of the room, where once the lamp had burned. The steps of the spiral staircase were steep and narrow and Virginia, panting from the exertion, had parked herself on a window seat beside a door opening out on to a tiny balcony. Years of exercise in the harsh conditions on Gaunt meant Rachel could take the steps two at a time. She’d hardly drawn breath while rhapsodising about the panorama.
‘Now that you’ve found such a unique home, you’ll never want to leave!’
A curious expression flitted across Virginia’s face. ‘I’ll never find a finer vantage point, it’s true. Whether I’d care to live in Hemlock Bay forever is a different question. When I had our fortunes told, I asked the palmist what the future held for us here, but the fellow didn’t give me a straight answer.’
‘A fortune teller?’ Rachel clapped her hands in delight. ‘How truly divine!’
‘Frankly, he didn’t divine very much at all,’ Virginia said drily. ‘Neither Ffion nor I were told anything he couldn’t have guessed from weighing us up for two or three minutes.’
‘This was at the amusement park?’
The artist nodded. ‘A pleasant place to while away an hour or two, even if Sir Harold Jackson was pushing his luck when he named it Paradise.’
‘And the fortune teller’s name is…?’
‘The Great Hallemby.’ Virginia grunted. ‘Claims to be from the mysterious Orient but if you ask me, he’s about as sophisticated as a bowl of leek-and-potato soup. All these fellows are rogues, of course, but I suppose having your palm read is all part of the experience of being at the seaside. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh,’ Rachel said carelessly. ‘It must be jolly good fun to learn what fate has in store for you.’
Virginia stroked her long jaw. ‘Don’t you think that sometimes it’s better not to know, Miss Savernake?’
Rachel tittered. ‘I suppose you’re right. We should content ourselves with the here and now. Especially in such a lovely spot as this. Hemlock Bay is utterly idyllic.’
‘You’re in good company. Turner thought the same, though he probably knew nothing of Hemlock Bay’s dark history.’
Virginia flung open the balcony door and a gust of wind sent her hair billowing.
‘Goodness,’ Rachel said. ‘It seemed so still before…’
‘We’re a long way up. Would you like to step outside?’
‘I’d love to!’
‘Please take great care.’ Virginia’s smile was tinged with menace. ‘The balcony is narrow and it’s a tight squeeze. The railing is so low, you could easily go over the edge.’
Rachel joined her outside and gazed towards the Irish Sea. Even on such a clear day, there was no remote speck on the horizon marking the island where she’d grown up. Gaunt was far distant and often wreathed in mist when the weather everywhere else was glorious.
Crude steps had been hewn into the rock face close to the lighthouse. They led to a small patch of sand, hardly enough to qualify as a beach. At the bottom of the cliffs were several caves. On the other side of the town rose Hemlock Head, conspicuous thanks to the colourful razzamatazz of the amusement park. The grounds of the Sun and Air Garden were out of sight.
‘Shall we go downstairs?’ Virginia asked. ‘Ffion will be ready to pour the tea by now.’
They made their way back to the living room. Half a dozen unframed pictures stood on the floor, propped against the curving wall, and several sketches were scattered across the table. Through an open window, Rachel heard the movement of the water against the rocky shore. On a calm afternoon, the sound was soporific but Rachel knew from winters on Gaunt that in the midst of a storm, the roaring waves would terrify anyone unfamiliar with their fury.
She pointed to the outcrop of rocks. ‘So that is Mermaid’s Grave?’
‘Evocative name, isn’t it? The surface of the rocks is treacherous at the best of times. Even in fine weather, they’re as slippery as a skating rink. The currents are so strong that anyone who fell in would be tugged underwater in the blink of an eye.’
A dreamy look flitted over Virginia’s face. Picturing the scene in her mind, a subject for a future painting? With a visible effort, the older woman jerked herself back to the present.
‘Now, Miss Savernake, do you take sugar?’
Rachel was conscious that Virginia’s companion was subjecting her to intense scrutiny. Ffion Morris was in her early twenties, fair-haired and pretty and wearing a short-sleeved summer dress. She had very little to say for herself, and a glacial smile of greeting hadn’t touched her china-blue eyes. After being introduced, she’d made the tea and scones without demur, but Rachel was left in no doubt that her intrusion was unwelcome.
As they buttered their scones, Rachel heaped praise on the paintings. Most were opaque swirls of colour, but one pen-and-ink sketch was easily recognisable. A head-and-shoulders portrait of Ffion Morris, wearing an expression of uncompromising resolve.
‘A wonderful likeness!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘You have such lovely features!’
Ffion gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. ‘Ginny calls it The Vow.’
‘I dashed that off shortly after the two of us became close,’ Virginia said. ‘Since then, I’ve painted Ffion a dozen times. Each time, I find some fresh facet to her character, but this one still pleases me the most. I wanted to capture her… commitment.’
‘How gratifying it must be to model for your friend!’ Rachel said.
‘I’m used to it,’ Ffion said.
Virginia gave a crooked grin. ‘I hope familiarity isn’t breeding contempt, my dear?’
Ffion shrugged and bit into her scone.
Virginia turned to Rachel. ‘Perhaps I should paint you, Miss Savernake.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Rachel put a hand to her mouth. ‘That would be such an honour. But I hardly dare—’
‘Let’s discuss it another time,’ Virginia said lazily. ‘We’re sure to keep bumping into each other.’
There was a short, deeply uncomfortable silence. Rachel looked around the room. ‘This is such a fascinating home.’
‘Isn’t it? Trinity House took the lighthouse out of commission when a harbour was built further up the coast at Heysham. Harold Jackson snapped it up for a song and renovated it for residential purposes. His shrewdness and opportunism earned him a fortune. Not to mention a knighthood.’
Rachel nibbled her scone. ‘He still lives in the area?’
‘Oh yes, both Sir Harold and his wife are genuinely devoted to Hemlock Bay. They own almost all the land around here. Including your bungalow, of course.’
‘Yes, his name is on my tenancy agreement.’
‘And on mine, too.’ Rachel noticed she didn’t say ours. She glanced at Ffion, but the younger woman’s gaze was fixed on her cup of tea. ‘Until Harold Jackson and his wife came along, there was nothing much here but sheep and seagulls.’
‘By the sound of things, Sir Harold transformed this area out of all recognition. The development must have made him unpopular in some quarters. People always resent change, don’t they?’
Virginia shook her head. ‘Before the war, this was a lonely, impoverished part of the world. The Jacksons are very generous. I haven’t found anyone with a bad word to say about them. There’s even talk of erecting a statue of Sir Harold on the promenade.’
‘Goodness me.’ Rachel paused. ‘Have you met him?’
‘As soon as we arrived, he and his wife invited us to dinner at Hemlock Hall. I’m sure they will invite you too. They are extremely sociable. Lady Jackson is American, of course.’
Rachel nodded.
‘When they bought the place, it was close to falling down. Now it’s one of the finest country houses in Lancashire and Lady Jackson loves entertaining.’ Virginia cast a glance at her friend. ‘I had a delightful time, although poor Ffion found the evening a dreadful bore.’
‘What did you make of the Jacksons?’
‘Harold Jackson oozes charm, but I’d say his wife is the power behind the throne. She’s from California and not in the least troubled by any innate British reticence about enjoying her wealth.’
‘If Sir Harold has made pots of money since the war,’ Rachel said, ‘I suppose he’s ready to put his feet up.’
Virginia took a breath. ‘Perhaps, but nobody has escaped the consequences of the Slump, have they?’
‘I hear he’s brought in a new business partner?’
Virginia threw a quick glance at her friend, but it wasn’t so quick that Rachel failed to notice. ‘That’s right. A man called Carson. His home is opposite your bungalow.’
A certain flatness in her tone prompted Rachel to say, ‘You don’t care for him?’
‘No, no,’ Virginia said hurriedly. ‘I hardly know the fellow. We’ve nodded to each other in passing, but that’s all. But I’ve heard he… likes a drink.’
Ffion was becoming restive. Rachel thought she was struggling to suppress a snarl of contempt.
‘You must excuse Ffion,’ Virginia said. ‘Her current passions are Celtic culture and the Communist Party. She deeply disapproves of capitalism. Especially businessmen like Jackson and Carson.’
‘Parasites.’ Lifting her head for a moment, Ffion spat out the word.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Rachel drank some tea and said, ‘This is a town of newcomers, it seems. Who lives in Shepherd’s Cottage?’
‘A retired doctor, name of Doyle,’ Virginia said. ‘An Irishman who has spent a considerable period of time in South Africa. Rather evasive, I thought.’
‘Evasive?’
‘Didn’t want to talk about himself at all.’ The crooked teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Unusual for any man to be so bashful, don’t you agree? Made me wonder if he’d been struck off or disbarred or whatever it is that happens to doctors who misbehave. But I’m letting my imagination run away with me. As well as being unkind and unfair.’ She smiled. ‘Accusations that are often levelled against me, I should add.’
Ffion banged her cup down on its saucer so hard it was a miracle they didn’t break into a hundred pieces.
Rachel pretended not to notice. The younger woman was simmering, like a volcano about to boil over. What might happen if she did erupt?
‘Has Dr Doyle lived here long?’
‘Oh no, he’s yet another incomer.’ Virginia considered Rachel. ‘You ask a lot of questions, Miss Savernake.’
Rachel giggled. ‘Do forgive me. I’m naturally inquisitive.’
‘So am I. You must tell me about yourself.’
‘Not much to tell, I’m afraid.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ The wolfish smile returned. ‘You strike me as a young lady with hidden depths.’
Rachel could almost hear Ffion grinding her teeth in anger. And jealousy?
‘I came to Hemlock Bay in search of something different.’
‘New experiences?’
‘If you like to put it that way.’ Rachel breathed out. ‘You see, until now I have led such a very sheltered life. I’m hoping for a little excitement.’