The Beachcomber Read online

  Time and again he had searched his mind for a reason, and each time he was forced to surmise that the person who ran him over that cliff-edge must have been out of his mind. But it made no difference. “Madman or fool, you took three lives that day … and ruined another.”

  A terrible sense of rage overwhelmed him. “You’ll pay for it. When the time is right, I’ll take up your trail and make you pay for what you did!”

  He stood up and strode away, his face set hard as stone as he walked toward the cottage and a measure of sanctuary. For now he must give himself the time he so badly needed. But the day would come when he would heal. His mind would clear and he would be able to think straight.

  On that day, he would set out to find the killer.

  And he would not rest until he found him!

  CHAPTER 4

  “FOR GOD’S SAKE, Kathy!” Trying unsuccessfully for the umpteenth time to fasten the portmanteau, Maggie sat back on her knees and groaned. “What the hell have you got in here … the kitchen sink?” Suddenly free of her weight, the portmanteau heaved a sigh and up popped the lid. “Oh no … not again! Throwing herself flat on the floor, arms outstretched and eyes closed, she told Kathy, “That’s it, gal. I give up!”

  Up to her neck in scattered clothes and half-filled boxes, Kathy threw down the saucepan she was carrying and walked across the room. Leaning over the prostrate figure of her friend, she suggested invitingly, “What say we stop for a cup of tea?”

  Looking up through one weary, open eye, Maggie wanted to know, “Is there any o’ that fruitcake left?”

  Kathy rolled her eyes. “Oh, I dare say I can find us a piece … but only if you can stop swearing and moaning long enough to eat it!”

  Maggie scrambled up. “Go on then, gal. Go to it.”

  While Kathy busied herself at that, Maggie made another attempt to close the portmanteau lid, whooping and hollering when it finally clicked into place. “But you can carry it down the stairs!” she warned Kathy as they sat at the table with their tea and cake. “I’ve got a date on Thursday.” She chuckled naughtily. “I’d rather not turn up ruptured … if you know what I mean?”

  Kathy gave her a warning in return. “As long as you don’t end up pregnant instead!”

  Maggie was indignant. “No chance. I’m not that stupid!”

  “All the same, be careful. You know as well as I do … blokes are only ever out for one thing.”

  “Not this one.”

  Replacing her empty cup on the table, Kathy was curious, “Who is he, then?”

  “Just a bloke.” Shrugging her shoulders, Maggie bent her head to the tea in front of her.

  Realizing, Kathy groaned. “Oh, Maggie! It’s not that cunning devil who kept bothering you the last time we were at the Palais, is it? The one who kept combing his hair and winking every time you turned round?”

  Maggie went on the defensive. “It might be.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Kathy sighed. “Maggie! Maggie! Will you never learn?”

  Wide-eyed and accusing, Maggie stared back at her. “What’s wrong with him, that’s what I’d like to know?”

  “Well, for starters, he’s vain and arrogant, and for another, didn’t you see his snidey ‘mates,’ sniggering and carrying on behind him?”

  “So?” Now she was really on the defensive.

  Undeterred, Kathy spelled it out. “So … they were egging him on. You said that yourself.” She was convinced. “I reckon he’s trying to get off with you for a bet.”

  “I asked him that and he denied it,” Maggie answered sulkily.

  “Oh, did you now?” This was something Kathy had not been aware of. “So, you thought the same, did you? You never told me.”

  Maggie didn’t like being cornered. “All right, it did cross my mind that he just might be trying it on for a bet, but he wasn’t.” Leaning forward, she gave Kathy one of her “leave me alone” stares.

  Kathy got the message. “Okay, I won’t say another word.”

  “Good!” Sighing loudly, she told Kathy, “I really like him. Anyway, I know how to look after myself.”

  “Fair enough.” Not wanting to upset her, Kathy backed off. “Just be wary, that’s all I’m saying.” Her own mistake with Geoff was in her mind.

  Secretly, Maggie still had her own doubts about her date, but she was feeling lonely already, and Kathy hadn’t even gone yet. “What about you?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

  Kathy gave a half-smile. “No.”

  “Then don’t do it.”

  “It’s too late now. I’ve broken it off with Geoff, I’ve left my job, my flat’s been rented out to someone else and, thanks to you, I’m already packed.” Glancing at the portmanteau, she laughed. “If it bursts open on the train, I’ll pretend it’s not mine.”

  At that, Maggie laughed with her, before making a serious suggestion. “If you change your mind, you know they’ll give you back your job, because they said so. And you can always bunk in with me until you find another flat.”

  Kathy thanked her, but, “This is something I have to do, Mags,” she replied thoughtfully. “I believe that house at West Bay was left to me for a purpose. Dad wanted me to have it, and I need to go there.”

  “Well, yes, I understand that, but why can’t the pair of us go together … just for a week, to get the lay of the land. There’s no need to throw away everything, not when you’re not sure what you might be walking into.”

  Kathy didn’t see it that way. “We’ve been through all this, Mags, and I’m still determined to go … though I wish you were coming with me, at least for a holiday.” Lowering her voice, she tried to explain how she felt. “I’ve no family to speak of … except you. I work hard and pay my bills and sometimes I can’t see the point of it all. I’m not happy, Mags … I haven’t been since Dad … well, not for a long time, and what with Mother always on my back, and Samantha whining and moaning at every little thing, I think I’d have gone crazy if it wasn’t for you.”

  “But look, Kathy … packing up and moving to a strange place … to a broken-down old house you’ve never even seen?” Pausing, she let the words sink in. “It’s such a drastic step.”

  Kathy was unmoved. “But I’ve got nothing to lose.” She gave a smile that was meant to put all Maggie’s doubts aside. “I’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

  Maggie was still not convinced. “It’s just plain daft if you ask me! Look at what you’re doing. You’ve got two weeks’ wages and a week’s holiday pay, and a few savings – that ain’t gonna last long, is it? And from what your mother told you about the place being ‘derelict,’ you could be walking into a right dump.”

  Kathy laughed. “Don’t exaggerate.”

  Maggie persisted. “But how do you know, eh? You haven’t even seen it. What if it’s so bad you can’t even live in it, then what? All right, you could check into a hotel, but then your money will be gone faster than you can catch the next train back … that’s if you’ve got the fare.”

  She was desperately worried. “Think again, Kathy. Give me a few days and I’ll get time off to go with you. It’s at the coast so there must be caravans there. We’ll rent one for a week and get the house sorted out at the same time. It’ll be fun. Oh, Kathy! Say you will?”

  Kathy was half tempted, but on reflection her resolve hardened. “My mind’s made up. I’m catching the half past ten train and I’ll call you when I get there.” She loved Maggie and didn’t want her worrying. “Look, if you like you can still ask for time off and follow me down. I’d like that.”

  “I’m not staying in no ‘derelict’ house, though!” Maggie was adamant. “I’m not as daft as you.”

  Kathy laughed. “No, you’re dafter, or you wouldn’t be going out with that bloke.”

  Maggie gave her a playful thump. “We’ll see.”

  Kathy asked hopefully, “Do you think you will be able to get time off?”


  “I’ll have a damned good try.”

  Returning to stand the case on its end, she groaned when trying to lift it. “Like I said … I’m not carrying this thing down the stairs.”

  “Stop moaning, you don’t have to,” Kathy explained. “I’ve ordered a taxi. The driver can take it down the stairs, and the porter will carry it for me at the station.”

  Maggie gave a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that. Let them get the ruptures!”

  There was still a lot more to do before the taxi arrived. “These are the boxes to be collected for the charity shop.” Kathy closed the last box. “And the rest is to be left for the landlord.” Pointing to a piled-up sofa, she told Maggie, “He paid me a few bob to leave all the curtains, bedding, rugs and towels … oh, and a few ornaments I don’t have use for. He wants to keep it all for his next tenant.”

  Maggie tutted. “Tight git! You’d think he’d at least get some new stuff.”

  Kathy agreed, but said, “He’s tight-fisted with his money. That’s why he’s rich and we’re not.”

  “No, it’s not,” Maggie retorted. “He’s rich because he bought two houses along the street for next to nothing, and made them into eight flats.” She pulled a face that made Kathy laugh out loud. “… And because he’s a tight git!”

  “You’re right.” Kathy had to agree. “We’d best get a move on or I’ll miss the train.” She began checking each room. “Best make sure everything’s all right before we leave,” she told Maggie. “I don’t want him to think I keep an untidy, dirty place.”

  Maggie followed her. “If he wants to see untidy –” she was not surprised to note that every room was neat and clean as a new pin – “he’d best come and see my place.”

  They were startled when a man’s voice boomed out behind them, “Taxi for the station. Would that be you two?” A large man with a beer-belly and a thick, gruff voice filled the doorway. “Well? Did you order a taxi or didn’t you? I ain’t got all day.”

  “It’s me.” After the initial shock of this big man with the booming voice, Kathy leapt into action. “If you could please take the portmanteau down, I need to collect a few things. I’ll be right behind.” She straightened her jacket and picked up her hat and gloves from the side.

  As he walked toward the portmanteau, Maggie dodged into the bedroom. Without delay, Kathy followed, the pair of them peeping around the corner as he lifted the article. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What the bloody hell’s she got in ’ere?”

  “See, I told you it was heavy!” Digging Kathy in the ribs, Maggie was bursting to laugh. “I bet you’ve ruptured the poor devil!”

  Red-faced and grunting, he carried it across the room and out the door, moaning and groaning as he bounced it down one step after another. “I wish he’d be careful,” Kathy declared as they emerged from their hiding-place. “He might break it.”

  “Yes, and he might ‘break’ your bleedin’ neck if you say anything.”

  A knock on the door announced the arrival of the charity people to collect the boxes. “Every little helps,” the bottle-blond said with a grateful smile. “We have all kinds of people who come into the shop and buy this kind of bric-a-brac.”

  Maggie had a naturally suspicious nature. “If you ask me, they were a dodgy pair!” she said as they left. “I bet you they’ll be straight around the market and flog the bleedin’ lot.”

  “Don’t be so cynical,” Kathy chided. “These people do a good job.”

  Maggie didn’t answer: she knew what she knew and that was that.

  As the two of them left the house, the irate driver rounded on Kathy. “I hope you realize this meter’s ticking?” he asked pointedly. Before she could answer, he grabbed Kathy’s bag and threw it in the back. “I recall somebody saying they had a train to catch, and it won’t be my fault if she misses it!”

  Behind him, Maggie was laughing.

  When it was time to leave, Kathy hugged her friend tight. “I’ll call you when I get there,” she promised. “Remember what I said … take care of yourself.”

  Maggie’s bottom lip began to tremble. “You too,” she muttered. “I’ll ask for time off, so’s I can come and help you settle in.”

  As Kathy climbed into the taxi, Maggie apologized. “I really should be coming to the station with you.”

  Kathy dismissed her worries. “There’s no use you coming with me,” she said. “I’ll be on the train as soon as ever I get there. Besides, you’ve had three warnings about being late already.”

  “Hmh! She’s just a frustrated old cow.”

  As the driver pulled away, Kathy saw how down Maggie was. “Stop worrying,” she called out the window. “I’ll be all right.”

  Maggie waved her out of sight. “I’ll miss yer, gal.” Thrusting her hands into her jacket pocket, she turned to look up at the flat, bowed her head, and walked away. “That old cow had best let me have time off,” she muttered. “I need to know that Kathy’s all right.”

  She quickened her step, the merest whisper of a smile beginning to wipe away the misery. “First, though, I’ve a date coming up, and a new frock to buy.” With that in mind, she headed straight for the nearest shop. It was the surest thing to take her mind off her troubles.

  The minute the taxi stopped, Kathy was given her first instruction. “If yer think I’m lifting that portmanteau again, you’ve another thought coming,” the taxi driver growled. “So, if you want to catch that train, you’d best find a porter … and make sure he’s built like a navvy, or he’ll never lift the damned thing.”

  Giving him a hard look, Kathy ran off to see if there was a porter about. She eventually found one, but he was built more like a nanny than a navvy. “Huh! Is that the best you could do?” the taxi driver asked Kathy in a loud, insulting voice. Addressing the porter, he gave a snide little grin. “If you can lift that out of the boot, I’ll not charge her a penny fare.”

  The porter winked knowingly at Kathy, then he glanced into the open boot at the huge portmanteau. “It’s a deal,” he said. Walking from side to side, he took a moment or two to mentally assess the size and weight of the article.

  “Go on then!” the big man urged with a nasty chuckle. “It won’t leap out the more you look at it.” He thought the porter was a bad joke.

  As for Kathy, her bet was on the porter. At least he seemed confident.

  With Kathy on one side and the big man on the other, the little porter took hold of each corner and, easing the portmanteau forward, got it to the edge of the boot. “The bet’s only on if you lift it out!” the big man grumbled. “Dropping it off the edge onto the barrow don’t count.”

  The porter never said a word; instead he looked up at the taxi driver with a disdainful stare. Then he spat into the palms of his hands, rubbed them together, and with one mighty heave lifted the portmanteau in the air. With immense courage he held it aloft for the slightest moment, before dropping it thankfully to the barrow.

  By this time, Kathy was leaping and dancing about. “HE DID IT!” she cried. “He lifted it out, and I don’t owe you a fare.” In a mad moment of triumph she vigorously shook the porter by the hand, until she remembered how he’d spat into it. Discreetly wiping it on her skirt, she thanked him. “Even I didn’t think you could do it,” she apologized lamely.

  “You’d be surprised at what we’re asked to lift,” the porter revealed proudly. Glancing at the big man, he made a suggestion. “A tenner says I can lift you straight off your feet!”

  The other man’s answer was a rude gesture, and the quickest exit from the station the porter had ever witnessed.

  A moment later, after Kathy got her ticket, she and the porter headed toward the train, which had just pulled into the station. “I’d best get this on board for you,” he suggested. “We don’t want you doing an injury to yourself, do we?” He was also thoughtful enough to get a promise from the attendant that he would take it off at the other end.

  Slipping him a generous tip, Kathy thanked him, and he wished
her good day.

  Once on the train, she settled into her seat. “I’m on my way,” she murmured, “West Bay, here I come!” Even though she was somewhat nervous, there was still a sense of great excitement. After all, as she constantly reminded herself, she was about to start a whole new life.

  The train went straight through from London to Weymouth.

  Throughout the long journey, she read snatches of the newspapers left by previous passengers, and occasionally struck up desultory conversations with passengers nearby. She bought two drinks from the trolley that was pushed lazily up and down by some weary woman – and had to run to the loo a couple of times for her troubles.

  On the final leg of the journey, she gazed out the windows at the scenery, wondering about the house in West Bay and the woman who had shared it with her father. Several times she murmured the name “Liz,” and each time she had a different image in her mind.

  Finally she fell asleep, waking only when the conductor alerted her that they had arrived at Weymouth Station.

  After disembarking, she secured another porter. He told her the best way to get to West Bay was by bus to Bridport and taxi, although, “I reckon you’ve already missed the last one.” Luckily she hadn’t: at the information desk she was relieved to hear, “The last bus is about to leave in ten minutes.” The clerk pointed her in the right direction, and the bus conductor took charge of her trolley and portmanteau – though he had a word or two to say when lifting the portmanteau into the hold – and soon Kathy was off on the last leg of her adventure.

  Dropped off in the town of Bridport, Kathy had to travel the final mile or so in a taxi. “Barden House, you say?” The driver knew the house. “Used to take a gentleman there … he was from London, too.” Much to Kathy’s astonishment he went on to describe her father. “Though I haven’t seen him this past year or so,” he said. “There was a woman – his wife, I expect – lovely lady, or so they say. I never met her myself. It seems the house is empty now … in need of some tender loving care.” He smiled at her through his mirror. “Sorry to be going on a bit, you must be tired after your journey. I’m afraid idle gossip goes with the job.”