The Beachcomber (16 page)

There were three bedrooms, each with a bed, wardrobe and dressing table. All the beds were covered in eiderdowns of varying colors; all the colors were warm and gentle: much like the woman herself, Kathy suspected.

The main room overlooked the harbor. Square and spacious, it had a good feel to it, Kathy thought.

Leaning out of the window, she took a great gulp of air, drinking in the magnificent views at the same time. It was only when she turned that she saw the small photograph on the bedside cabinet. With hesitant footsteps she went over to it and, taking the photograph into her hands, she stared at it for what seemed an age, her heart turning somersaults and the tears never far away.

There were three people in the photograph: a woman of the same description the old man had given and who she knew must be Liz; a boy, taller than she’d imagined, his laughing face looking up at her and the sunlight making him squint. Standing between them, the man had his arms around the other two. She ran a sensitive finger over his features. “Why did you have to leave me?”

As the tears began to spill, Kathy sat on the bed, her gaze intent on her beloved father’s face, her mind in turmoil with questions, and her heart like a lead weight inside her. “You look so different,” she murmured. “Jasper was right,” she conceded, “you
are
different.” In a casual, short-sleeved shirt, his hair gently blown by the breeze and with a look of contentment in his dark eyes, her father seemed years younger than she remembered.

She sat there for a long time, the photograph clutched tightly against her chest and the sobs echoing in that long-deserted room. In his free, bright smile, she could see with her own eyes how happy he had been here, with that other family he had protected so fiercely.

The sobs were bitter, yet not condemning. The emotions she had pent up, the resentment and anger, all of that poured away, until all that was left were memories, and a great well of gratitude, because he had found contentment.

In Cliff Cottage the two men played their last game of cards for the evening. “Time I were off to me bed.” The old man yawned. “One more hand, then I’m away. What d’yer say, Tom?”

“You’re right, it’s late.” Getting up from the table, Tom stretched his arms almost to the ceiling, his body aching in every bone. “I think my back’s broken from lifting all those crates!” All the walking he did had kept him fit, but lately he had come to realize he needed work of some kind, to keep him sane as well as supple. “I’ve been thinking … I might take Jack up on his offer to go out fishing with him,” he confided. “I need to do something … at least until I get my life sorted out.” Which meant hunting down the monster who killed his family.

“I’m glad to hear it.” The old man paused before asking in a softer voice, “That other business you’ve been brooding about, is it done with?”

Tom was taken aback. “What business is that?” Though he feigned ignorance, he knew well enough what the old man was on about.

“Don’t get me wrong, son.” The old man was growing to love and respect Tom like a son. “I’ve known all along that summat bad drove yer to West Bay. I’ve seen that same look on blokes during the war – brooding, keeping it all locked up inside till it drives a man crazy.”

When Tom made as if to reply, Jasper put up his hand. “No, son. Whatever it is, you’ll deal with it, I’m sure. Like I said, it’s none o’ my business. You’ve never said, and I never asked,” he explained. “If a man wants to keep his business to hisself, that’s fine by me.”

Tom neither denied nor confirmed it.

The old man persisted. “So? Is it over … whatever’s driven yer to haunt the cliff tops in the middle of the night … Oh, aye!” He nodded assuredly. “I’ve seen yer, wandering about like a lost soul, an’ I’ve seen yer during the day … with yer eyes all swollen from lack o’ sleep.”

He looked Tom in the eye. “So, is it over? Is that why yer all of a sudden coming outta yer shell and tekking up the skipper’s offer to go fishing?”

For what seemed an age Tom didn’t answer. Instead he walked slowly to the window, where he stared into the night. In his mind’s eye he could see the carnage on that day when he lost them all. “No!” His voice was like a whiplash in the quietness of the room. “It’s
not
over! Not yet.” But soon, he thought … very soon!

Sensing the rage inside him, the old man sidled up to Tom. Laying a tender hand on his arm, he warned, “Easy, son. I know what it’s like to be haunted by things yer can’t control.” He had an idea what Tom was going through, though not the reason for it. “Whatever it is yer need to do in order to regain peace of mind, I want you to remember one thing.”

Turning to look down on him, Tom asked the question without uttering one word. “Tek yer time, son,” the old man advised. “Don’t let rage and bitterness cloud yer judgment. Sometimes a man can’t see the wood for the trees. Be sure to remember that.”

Tom nodded appreciatively. He knew this man was his friend, and he was grateful for that. Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about what happened. He squared his shoulders and, smiling, stood back. “How about if you put the cards away, while I get my jacket? I’ll see you home.”

Glancing out of the window, he was intrigued to see that all the houses were in darkness but for one. “We seem to be the last ones awake right now,” he commented, “except for that old house down by the green.” From where he stood, the light flickering in the front room was clearly visible.

Concerned, Jasper looked out of the window. “By! The lass is up late, and no mistake. I hope she’s all right.”

Tom was surprised. “Why shouldn’t she be?”

“Because there’s no electricity nor water, and yer know how long it teks ’em to turn it all back on. Quick enough to tek yer money though, the buggers!”

“Her name’s Kathy.” Unaware that Tom had seen Kathy as she sat on the wall eating her chips that night, the old man chatted on. “Her father left her the house, so she’s decided to come and live here.” Jasper thought that was about as much as he had a right to tell anyone, even Tom, except, “Soonever she’s got the house up to scratch, she’ll be looking for work. Now then … are yer walking back with me, or what?”

Kathy had just closed the curtains and made her way up to bed, taking the lamp with her, when she heard a tap on the door. A little nervous, she looked out of the window. “Who’s there?”

“It’s only me, lass.” The old man looked up. “I saw the light and wondered if yer were all right?”

Relieved, Kathy told him to wait and she would come down.

A moment later she was at the door. “I’m fine,” she told him, “but the sooner I get the electricity switched back on, the better.”

The old man was still anxious. “Yer should have booked into the guest-house, like I said,” he replied. “Yer should not be sleeping in that damp bed … and the sheets must need a good boil, if they are still in one piece, that is.”

Kathy laughed. “You’re a real worrier! Look, I washed the sheets by hand and dried them on a line outside. I went across to the shop with two hot-water bottles I found, and the lady very kindly filled them with hot water, so I could air the mattress. I’ve had Ovaltine and toast for my supper, and a crisp, rosy apple to finish.” She was grateful, though, for his concern. “I’m all right, Jasper, really I am.” In fact, she was already feeling very attached to the house.

The old man was content. “It seems yer can look after yersel,’” he remarked, “… an’ I’m just wastin’ me time.” He had reservations, though. “I’m still not sure about the bed. Are yer sure it’s fit to sleep on, lass?”

“Absolutely! Like I said … the sheets are washed, the mattress aired, and I’m not about to die of pneumonia, so will you stop worrying?” She gave him a smile. “Still, it is
nice
to have somebody worrying about me.”

“Right then, lass. I’d best leave yer to get some sleep,” he said. “Seems to me you’ve had a busy old day.”

Satisfied that she was coming to no harm, he went back down the path. “By! She’s not only bonny,” he told Tom, who had waited by the gate, “she’s capable, too.”

As the two of them walked away, Kathy caught sight of Tom. “Goodnight!” she called. Tom returned the greeting with a wave and a smile that Kathy found appealing.

Tom was curious. “Does she really mean to stay in that house all on her own?”

“As far as I know, yes. But, like I said, she seems capable enough.”

Five minutes later, having walked the old man home and chatted about this and that, Tom returned by way of Barden House. He hadn’t taken too much notice of it before, but even in the lamplight he could see how anyone might fall in love with the place.

At the corner he paused, his glance traveling upward to the window where she was when Jasper first spoke to her. “Brave girl,” he murmured. “She’s got her work cut out keeping that place up to scratch.” He smiled to himself. “She seems an independent sort; I don’t suppose she’d welcome the offer of help.”

His heart leapt when suddenly the curtain was drawn back and the window flung open and there was Kathy looking down on him. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. Instead they looked at each other for a long, mesmerizing moment, before he hurried away, embarrassed at having been caught loitering outside her house.

Kathy watched him stride away. “I don’t know who was more embarrassed … me or him.” She thought she might relate the incident in her next letter to Maggie. But, on second thoughts, it seemed such a private moment she decided not to.

They were both so deeply disturbed by the encounter that it was a long time before either of them could sleep.

Kathy lay snuggled up in her bed, absentmindedly watching the shifting skies through her window; while Tom paced the floor awhile, before picking up the photograph of his family. He stared at their familiar faces, and as always was filled with regret, and a sense of blind rage that even now he had not brought under control.

With Kathy’s face creeping into his mind, he felt the need to explain to his lost wife. “She’s like you, sweetheart … strong-minded and independent.” It tore at his heart to realize he had addressed her as though she was present.

Replacing the photograph, he strolled to the window, his gaze drawn back to Barden House. He stayed there for an age, looking and thinking … with Kathy’s face strong in his mind.

Soon, those other, horrifying images swept away all else. Knowing what he must do before he could ever have a life again, he closed the curtains.

The next morning, back in London, a young woman rushed into a florist’s shop. “Mrs. Taylor! It’s happened again!”

The manageress dropped the half-finished bouquet onto the counter. “What are you talking about?” Since sending Gloria out on her deliveries, she’d been rushed off her feet, and was not now in the sweetest of moods. “Have you delivered all the flowers?”

“Yes, but …”

“Go on! Spit it out.” She could see something had upset the girl, and now she was curious. “What’s happened?”

Gloria almost ran to the counter where, red-faced and flustered, she told her boss, “You know that order, to take flowers to the churchyard every fortnight … that poor family that got killed? Well, it’s happened again … The flowers I put there week before last … those beautiful roses and gypsophila … they were strewn all over the place. Somebody’s filled the vase with
new
flowers! I didn’t know what to do, so I squeezed ours in.”

She was close to tears. “That’s three times now, when somebody’s deliberately vandalized our flowers. Should we let Mr. Marcus know, d’you think, Mrs. Taylor?”

The manageress considered it for a swift moment before coming to the conclusion, “It can’t be children. They might take it into their nasty little heads to destroy the flowers, but they’re not likely to spend a fortune on replacing them with their own, are they?”

“So, who is it then?”

“I wish I knew!” She had given it some thought before but she had not come up with any answers. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked angrily. “Anyway, I don’t think we should worry Mr. Marcus about it. We’ll just have to keep an eye on the situation.”

“Well,
I
think it’s weird!”

“That’s because you’ve got too vivid an imagination.”

Resuming her work, Margaret Taylor gave the order, “Move yourself, young lady. There’s work to be done.”

L
ILIAN WAS IN
a bad mood. With Tom gone, she felt lonely and irritable. Even her bright new colleague, Alice, with her bubbly manner and quick smile, couldn’t cheer her up.