Page 10 of The Key to the Last House Before the Sea

‘Sure. Let’s walk down into the village.’

Nessa walked off and he followed. She picked her way confidently down the steep cliff path, in blue shorts and a pink halter-neck top that showed off the tan on her shoulders. The gold bracelet coiled around her arm caught the morning sun.

Gabriel supposed he should make polite conversation, but he didn’t know what to say and she didn’t seem that bothered, so they walked into Heaven’s Cove in silence.

An hour later, he’d been shown the village church, which faced a pretty green edged with trees and old cottages. He’d also been to the quayside – which smelled of fish – and to the castle ruins, which were also crying out to be captured on canvas.

Gabriel mentally shook himself again. What was it about this place that made him want to break open the oil paints?

But time was pressing on, and his father kept texting for updates. So, when Nessa suggested going to the beach, he shook his head.

‘Maybe I can get to the beach another time. I’d really like to visit Sorrel Cove, if you could show me the way.’

Nessa, who’d been civil enough and had chatted on about Heaven’s Cove, stopped walking and gave him a straight stare.

‘Why are you interested in it?’ she asked directly. ‘Most people give it a miss because there’s nothing much there to see. It hasn’t been inhabited for decades and most of it’s in ruins.’

‘I know all that, but I read about it and the place sounds interesting.’

Nessa stared at him a moment longer, then puffed out her cheeks. ‘Sure. It’s your tour. We can get there by walking over the headland, if you’re up to that.’

‘Oh, I think I can manage it,’ he said, raising an eyebrow and hoping he sounded suitably sarcastic.

He might not look like one of the rugged local fishermen he’d seen at the quay, with their weathered skin and muscles, but he wasn’t a total wimp. The swish London gym he went to three times a week cost him a fortune.

But Nessa simply said ‘OK’ and led him to the edge of the village, to a piece of land that jutted out into the blue sea. He followed her up a path that wound through trees on the flanks of the headland.

Gabriel watched her as they climbed, the sun dappling through the branches and casting her face into shadow.

She was young – a little younger than him, he’d guess – and pretty, with long, dark hair that she twisted into a ponytail as the temperature rose. But there was something about her, a weariness or cynicism, that had forged a faint line between her eyebrows.

She was a tired single mother, he supposed. There was no ring on her left hand and po-faced Valerie had referred to Driftwood House as ‘home’ when she’d brought the child back yesterday. There was also no sign of a partner, and surely Nessa and her daughter wouldn’t be living at the guesthouse if she was in a supportive relationship?

I don’t work hard and pay an exorbitant amount in taxes to support single parents.

Gabriel could hear his father’s voice in his head. He often did, even when he tried to drown it out with alcohol. He drank rather too much these days – a habit which had led to deeply unsatisfying one-night stands with friends of friends he’d been set up with on blind dates.

‘Have you ever lived anywhere other than round here, even for a short while?’ he asked Nessa, who was striding ahead. He supposed he ought to be polite and feign some interest in her life.

‘Nope,’ she said over her shoulder, still climbing. ‘Bit boring, huh?’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he replied, as they emerged from the trees at the top of the headland. To be honest, it did sound rather unenterprising but, looking at the view from up here, perhaps not surprising. Why would anyone want to live anywhere else?

The sun, temporarily veiled by wisps of cloud, was casting gauzy beams of light onto the ocean, which rolled towards the village. Seagulls were dots of white, skimming the waves and calling mournfully to one another.

It was truly beautiful. An artist’s delight – only he was a property developer who never painted.

He pursed his lips and squinted along the coast. ‘So where’s Sorrel Cove?’

‘You can’t see it from here,’ said Nessa, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. ‘It’s in a sheltered spot on the other side of the headland. Follow me.’

They walked on, past tourists spreading picnic blankets on the grass, and descended a steep slope until they were almost at sea level. And there, tucked away, Gabriel spotted the ruins of a small community.

So this was Sorrel Cove. Gabriel stopped and shielded his eyes against the glaring sun.

A couple of the cottages were roofless, gaping and open to the elements. But the rest had collapsed entirely and were nothing more than mounds of stone scattered about the site.

Only one building remained relatively intact, at the back of the village, sheltered by rising land. Its stone walls and roof looked sound, but its windows were boarded up and tall grasses and wild flowers twisted around its foundations.

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