Nellie kissed the card and placed it onthe writing bureau. Taking a thin white candle from the box, she placedit in a holder at the centre of the fireplace, nestled among the holly and ivy,and lit it. Nellie smiled. It wasn’t much, but it would do. She picked Alfred up and angled his face so that he could see the decorations. ‘Our own little Christmas, Alfie,’ she whispered. ‘Just the two of us,until your daddy comes home.’
Nellie sat on the edge of the bed andpulled a blanket up around her shoulders. Gently rocking Alfred, shebegan to sing Silent Night softly.
ChapterFour
22nd December 2014, Cadgwith, Cornwall, England
Ahostile wind, unhindered on its relentless journey from its origins on the eastcoast of the Americas, pounded the tiny fishing village of Cadgwith. Withit came great torrents of rain, which lashed through the grey dawningsky. To all intents and purposes, the village appeared deserted. The only evidence of life, in the form of smoke rising from the thatched roofsnestled into the hills, was quickly whipped away and eradicated by theinclement weather.
‘There goes a nice walk, then,’ Juliettemurmured, tugging the duvet up over her ears. ‘Think it’s a stay-in-bedday.’
Morton sat up, leant across to the window,pulled open the curtains and gazed out to sea. Despite all that had beenplaying on his mind last night, he had slept surprisingly well.
The sound of the front door closing drewMorton’s eyes downwards and he spotted his Uncle Jim, toggled up in a brightyellow jacket and hat, striding down towards the village. Surely he’snot going fishing on a day like this? Morton thought. Madness. With Uncle Jim out of the house and Juliette drifting in and out ofconsciousness, now might be an ideal opportunity to speak with Aunty Margaret,he thought.
Morton swung his legs out of the bed andreached for his dressing gown to help stave off the chilly morning air. He had forgotten just how cold these old seaside places could become in thedepths of winter.
Downstairs, he found Margaret in thekitchen, rather predictably kneading a heap of dough. ‘Morning,’ Mortonsaid cheerfully.
‘Good morning, dear!’ she replied. ‘Sleep well?’
Morton nodded. ‘Very well, thankyou.’
‘There’s a pot of fresh filter coffeethere for you, if you want it. Help yourself.’
‘Perfect,’ Morton said, pouring himself agenerous cup. ‘Bit rough out there today, isn't it?’
Margaret chuckled. ‘Yeah, I supposeit is. You get used to it here, though. One minute it’s beautiful,the next it’s pouring down. I don’t pay it much attention, just get onwith life.’
A good philosophy, Morton thought. But did such acarefree attitude mean that big serious topics were also ignored? hewondered, glancing across the table at her. She was already dressed,wearing an optimistically flowery dress, over which she wore a white cardiganand her ever-present apron. Her hair was, as always first thing in themorning, up in tight multi-coloured rollers.
‘Still up for a cliff-top walk today?’Margaret asked.
Morton nodded. ‘Sounds great tome. I’m not sure you’ll get Juliette out of bed, though, in thisweather.’
Margaret stopped pummelling the dough andlooked Morton in the eyes. ‘Think it’ll be a good opportunity for us todiscuss our situation, wouldn’t you say?’
Morton was stunned, though he probablyshouldn’t have been. It was exactly the way his father would have dealtwith the problem—to ignore it for as long as possible then suddenlyJack-in-the-box it out into the open. ‘Er…yes. Yes,’ Morton finallyanswered. ‘That would be good.’
‘I mean, if you wanted to talkabout it. I presumed that was part of the reason you wanted to come downhere?’
Inexplicably, Morton flushed a deepcrimson and felt his voice box tighten. Then he remembered Juliette’swords about taking a step back and treating the situation as though he wereinvestigating a genealogical case. His confidence returned. ‘Yes, Iwould like that a lot.’
‘Good, that’s sorted then. We’llhave breakfast, then head out.’
Morton smiled, took a sip from his coffeeand sat down in front of the simmering open fire. As he stared out at thehuge waves crashing into the rocky cliffs beyond the cove, he considered whatwas about to happen. He was about to address the most significant aspectof his past head-on. He thought of some of his past clients and suddenlyfully appreciated how they had felt when he had revealed their family historyto them.
Mortonpulled open the front door and was greeted by a freezing blast of salty wind,laced with rain that felt like icy needles stabbing him in the face. Under normal circumstances, Morton would have either resolutely stayed indoors,or run as fast as he could to his car but he knew that he needed to have thiswalk and conversation with his Aunty Margaret. She stepped out as if itwere a full summer’s day, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they couldbarely stand up without being pushed and buffeted by the wind.
‘Right, come on, then!’ Margaret saidloudly, closing the front door behind her.
Morton looked up at the bedroom window andsaw Juliette, hair squally and wild, peeping out from under the duvet. She managed a vague gesture of a wave before disappearing back into bed. It had taken no work whatsoever for Morton to persuade her not to come on thewalk. She had cut his apologetic explanation short and told him thatunder no circumstances was she going for a cliff-top walk today. And thatwas that.
Margaret led the way up the hill, awayfrom the village. They passed the two neighbouring properties, one ofwhich, Morton noted with interest, was named ‘Man-o-War Cottage’, then the pathdwindled down to a single track so that they were forced to walk insingle-file. Not an ideal start for a momentous heart-to-heart, Mortonthought.
The path quickly reached an apex butrather than continuing round on the path, Margaret veered off beside whatlooked like a very tiny cottage, stone-built with a slate roof and tallchimney.
‘What’s this?’ Morton
