Harri thanked Lake for his help, and the two of them parted ways. Lake took the forest trail back to his car, and she walked north along the clifftop path. The wind whipped her hair and she reached into her pocket for a band and tied a loose tail. A shiver kissed her neck and ran down her spine. She looked around, but saw no one apart from Lake, who was almost at the treeline.
Her eyes settled on the strange, solitary house for a moment. She saw a black slate plaque by the front door, which bore the words ‘The Elsewhere House’. She was disconcerted by the name, and the proximity of the building to the place where she believed David Asha had taken his own life, and managed to convince herself someone was watching her, even though there was no one in the windows. She was only being paranoid.
Harri turned away from the unsettling building and watched the waves roll in. She didn’t stray off the path, but she could hear them crash against the rocks far below. There was something soothing about the erratic rhythm and, just as the mountains made Harri feel like a tiny, insignificant part of something vast, the beat of the ocean connected her to a world beyond the horizon. As she walked along the strip of worn, faded grass, she entertained the notion of moving here. There was nothing left for her in Stoke. She could sell her flat and buy a home on the coast. Maybe not somewhere as grand as the Elsewhere House, but a little cottage inland, perhaps? A new start, far away from the places and people that ruined her career. She smiled to herself and wondered why she hadn’t considered it before. Maybe depression had clouded her mind?
She walked on, hatching plans, picturing herself at home among the mountains and forests, living a slow-lane existence, working only as much as was needed to pay her bills, and spending the rest of the time enjoying the world and its beauty.
She followed the path down a steep slope to the estuary. Romance gripped her as she took in the ancient mountains that stretched into the distant north. She could live here wild and free, and maybe meet someone who would love her. Would she ever love them as much as she’d loved Ben? Maybe. Hopefully.
Brimming with dreams, she crossed the slatted wooden railway bridge that stretched between the two shores, and checked her phone for Margery Allen’s address. It turned out she lived in one of the blocks of flats on the seafront, not far from the bridge.
As she neared the Barmouth side, Harri encountered walkers, families, and tourists. The bridge offered a marvellous view of the estuary, which shimmered between the mountains and cliffs like a quicksilver ribbon. Harri went through a turnstile that had been warped and marred by time, and up some stone steps to the shorefront road. People strolled around with ice creams and cones of chips, basking in the lazy, warm, late-summer weather, and Harri fell in love with the idea of living among pleasure seekers. This was a place of leisure where people came to find calm and relaxation or have fun, and some of that must rub off on the locals. Could she become a calm pleasure seeker?
She crossed the road, hurried towards a row of grand Victorian apartment blocks, and approached a sky-blue building that had huge bay windows on every floor. When she reached the porch, she scanned the column of buttons for flat number five.
The front door opened, and a slim woman with a heavily lined face and a potent scowl emerged. An English springer spaniel followed her, sniffing around enthusiastically. The woman’s tweed walking suit made her look as though she might have been Winston Churchill’s governess.
‘What do you want?’ she asked as her dog pressed its nose against Harri’s legs.
Harri was taken aback by the curt tone.
‘Well? You’re about to push my button,’ the woman added, nodding towards Harri’s finger, which hovered above number five.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she replied. ‘Are you Margery Allen?’
‘Of course I am,’ Margery snapped. ‘The real question is who are you?’
‘My name’s Harriet Kealty. I’m investigating the death of David Asha.’
Margery glanced down at her dog, and Harri sensed a shift in her mood. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time. I’ve got to walk Fred.’
‘I can come with you. This won’t take long. I promise.’
Margery snorted, shut the front door, and brushed past her. Harri wasn’t sure whether that was a refusal, so she chanced her luck and fell in beside the brusque woman and her dog as they started down the path.