is a third man too, someone short but very upright, bouncing on his toes as he looks out across the water. Can it really be…? Yes it can. Ruth parks her car on the grass at the top of the cliff next to Nelson’s Mercedes and an old- style Jaguar that looks as if it has been preserved in aspic. Trust Jack Hastings to buy British.
‘Ruth! You made it.’ Nelson manages to give the impression that she’s late though it is still only twenty past.
‘Hallo, Nelson, Mr Hastings.’
‘Jack, please.’ Hastings is wearing a yellow sou’wester and seems full of bonhomie. ‘Fine day for a cruise,’ he says as he leads the way down the wooden steps. The launch is waiting by the jetty. It’s a lot smaller than Ruth expected.
‘Turns out Mr Hastings owns the lighthouse,’ says Nelson. ‘Lock, stock and barrel.’
‘Only way to stop it being demolished,’ says Hastings. ‘I couldn’t let that happen. Valuable part of our maritime heritage. Not that the government cares, of course.’
‘What are you going to do with it?’ asks Ruth. She is sure she read somewhere about decommissioned lighthouses being turned into museums or even bed-and-breakfasts.
‘Do?’ Hastings turns to look at her. ‘I’m not going to do anything. It’s perfect as it is.’
Ruth looks across at the sleek stone tower that seems almost part of the rocks around it. She thinks she knows what Jack Hastings means. As she watches, the sun is once more reflected from the top windows – two flashes, like a signal.
Ruth wonders how much Nelson has told Jack Hastings about today’s expedition. She is considering how to find out when Nelson says, rather repressively, ‘I’ve told Mr Hastings about your theory concerning the lighthouse.’
Ruth notes ‘your theory’. In other words, if the whole thing is a waste of time, it’ll be Ruth’s fault.
‘Jolly good fun,’ Hastings says, over his shoulder. ‘Like something from an Arthur Ransome book.’
‘Let’s get on with it,’ says Nelson. ‘The tide’ll turn in a minute.’ They have had to wait until high tide so that most of the rocks will be under water. Nelson hates waiting for anything though time and tide, as Ruth could have told him, wait for no man.
A boatman in an RNLI jersey holds the craft steady as they clamber on board. It pitches alarmingly and, too late, Ruth remembers that, while she loves the sea, she hates boats.
From the shore the sea had looked completely flat, but as soon as they are away from the jetty, waves appear from nowhere and the little boat struggles against them. Ruth’s stomach lurches in sympathy. Oh God, what if she’s sick all over Nelson? Hastings, clinging to the rail with one hand, seems to be enjoying himself.
‘Great fun!’ he shouts, above the noise of the engine.
A wave crashes over the prow. Ruth cowers inside the little glass cabin. What will happen to Kate if she is drowned? She really must make a will.
The lighthouse is getting nearer. Close up it looks more derelict, rusty tears running down its sides. The rocks make it difficult to land. The launch pitches to and fro as the waves wash up over its sides. Ruth clamps her teeth together. Eventually, though, the skipper manages to get them close enough for his mate to jump ashore. He ties the boat onto the little landing jetty and stretches out a hand to help Ruth. Praying that she doesn’t slip, she puts one foot on the side of the wildly rocking boat. Thank God she wore trainers. She manages an ungainly leap onto the rocks. It feels wonderful to be on solid ground.
Nelson jumps easily, he’s surprisingly nimble for such a big man, but Hastings stumbles and nearly falls.
‘Careful,’ says the crewman cheerfully. ‘If you fell in, we probably wouldn’t be able to get you out again.’
An iron ladder leads from the jetty up to the lighthouse. Are these the steps referred to in the code? Ruth looks doubtfully at the rusty metal. How could anything be buried under here?
Nelson doesn’t waste any time. He climbs the ladder, hand over hand, and disappears from view. Ruth follows, more slowly. She can hear Hastings behind her, breathing hard. The third man brings up the rear, struggling with the heavy drill.
Now they are standing looking up at the lighthouse itself and Ruth sees that there are more steps, concrete slabs leading up to the heavily barred door. They all stand there in silence for a minute. Seagulls call plaintively from the surrounding rocks. Ruth thinks of stories of lighthouse keepers sent mad by loneliness and wild weather. Though they are not far from land, the shore is misty and uncertain. Easy to imagine yourself miles from the world.
There are nine steps. ‘Any idea if it’s fourth step from the top or fourth step from the bottom?’ asks Nelson, rather sardonically.
Ruth shakes her head, pulling her anorak tighter. It is colder than ever.
‘Let’s try fourth from bottom,’ says Nelson. ‘We need to get going before the weather gets any worse. Take it away, Charlie.’
The man puts on ear-muffs and points the drill at the fourth step. There is an explosion of noise. Dust fills the air and the seagulls fly away, cawing angrily.
The concrete breaks easily. Nelson doesn’t wait for more. He kneels down and starts pulling away the rubble with his bare hands.
‘Is there anything there?’ shouts Ruth.
‘I think… yes, there’s a box.’ He leans into the hole.
‘Hang on,’ says Ruth, her forensic instincts outraged. ‘You can’t do that. You have to plot the find, note exactly where it is.’
Nelson ignores her. He reaches and straightens up, holding something that looks like a steel container, about the size of a shoe box. It seems unaffected by its sojourn underground; the metal gleams dully in the muted sunshine.
‘What is it?’ asks Ruth.
‘It looks like a radio case,’ says Hastings. ‘I’ve seen one like it before. Survival radios, they were called. The boxes were stainless steel. My father had one in the war.’
Nelson shakes the box. Ruth winces.
‘There’s something inside,’ he says.
‘Is there a key?’ asks Hastings.
‘I’m not buggering about looking for a key,’ says Nelson. He drops the box onto the ground, grabs the drill and aims it at the lid.
‘Stop!’ yells Ruth. ‘You might damage whatever’s inside. And you should be wearing gloves.’
Nelson looks at her darkly but he puts down the drill and asks Charlie if he can borrow his protective gloves. Then he tries the lid. It opens.
‘Well, I’m blowed,’ says Hastings. ‘It wasn’t even locked.’
Ruth leans forward as Nelson lifts something from the box. It is black and round, rather like a miniature steering wheel.
‘What is it?’ asks Ruth.
Again, it is Hastings who answers.
‘It’s a cine film.’
Jack Hastings invites them back to his house to screen the film. It turns out he has an old-fashioned projector. ‘I like old sixteen-millimetre films, it’s a hobby of mine. Of course, you could have it converted to DVD but that would take time.’
Nelson hesitates. He knows he should take the film back to the station and have it converted but the excitement of finding it has made him reckless. He can’t bear to wait another second without knowing what is on the film so carefully hidden and so cunningly traced. It’s almost as if Archie Whitcliffe is urging him on, congratulating him (okay, Ruth) for having cracked the code, for following the clues all the way from the dusty paperbacks to the steps of the lighthouse. Who hid the film, he wonders. Archie? Or Hugh, the lifeboatman?
‘The film might be damaged,’ he says, ‘but I suppose we could try.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ applauds Hastings.
They are standing on the cliff top beside their cars. The launch has chugged off back to Yarmouth. The sky is still the same yellowy-white. It is four o’clock.
‘Will you be joining us, Dr Galloway?’ asks Hastings politely.
Ruth hesitates. ‘I should get back.’
‘Oh, Clara won’t mind hanging on a bit longer,’ says Hastings. ‘Ring her.’
