A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,3

divers in trouble, a yacht drifting with no engine, a child on an inflatable blown out to sea or walkers cut off by the tide.

She’d finally cleared Nate’s debts and, with a legacy from her great-aunt, she’d also managed to pay off the mortgage on the cottage. She worked four days a week at the college these days, and had dropped her private tutoring to give her more time to spend at the lookout station.

Everyone in Porthmellow, and most of all herself, felt it was a fitting tribute to Nate. It had been an emotional day when, surrounded by a crowd of friends and neighbours, she’d unveiled the bronze plaque on the wall of the station that read:

In memory of Nathan Hudson

Forever in our hearts

From his loving wife, Marina,

and the people of Porthmellow

Despite the lump in her throat, even now, at the reminder of her loss and of the circumstances that led to the re-opening of the station, Marina was proud of what she and the people of Porthmellow had achieved and the difference they had already made to the lives of those they helped. It meant the world to her that she could help prevent another family going through what she had.

Her radio crackled. Gareth’s voice was a squeak. ‘Jesus. Christ. Ewww!’

‘Gareth! Are you OK?’

‘No. I’m not. I almost threw up. It’s not a body, it’s a dead seal and it’s all chewed up and rotten and manky. It’s tangled up in seaweed and some old clothes and there are things crawling all over it. Crabs and sea creatures with far too many legs. And it stinks!’

‘But it’s not a person.’

‘No. No, it isn’t.’

‘Then we should be very, very grateful. That poor seal probably died of natural causes and the body got tangled in the clothes off the container ship that was wrecked in the spring. I’ll come and take a look myself once you’re back here.’

‘I was sure it was a real body.’ Gareth sounded mutinous.

‘Thankfully not, and let’s hope we never have to find one. Come back up. I’ll make you a cuppa and we’ll talk about it.’ She cut off any further protest.

Marina wrote down the incident for the record and ladled an extra spoon of sugar in Gareth’s tea. For good measure she spooned some in her own, too. Even though she’d known within half a second that it hadn’t been a person washed up in the cove, that moment had been enough to send bad memories flooding back, even after all these years. Today had shown her that the past was always lurking like rocks below the surface of the cove, ready to catch her out when she least expected it.

Chapter Two

‘Oh f-f—’ Tiff Trescott bit off an expletive just before the old couple reached her. She was flat on her arse on the cobbles of the quay opposite the Harbour Café. Several people had seen her go over on her ankle and crumple to the floor but the pensioners had reached her first. The other locals, two teenage girls in wetsuits, were too busy laughing themselves silly.

‘You all right, my maid?’ An elderly man gazed down at her.

‘You went a right purler.’ A lady with a walking stick reached her, voice full of concern.

The old man offered a gnarled hand to her.

‘Thanks, but really, I’m fine,’ she said, catching sight of her trolley case which was teetering perilously close to the harbour wall. ‘I must rescue my bag before it falls in the water.’

‘I’ll get it,’ said the lady, making off at a surprising speed towards the suitcase

Tiff tried to get up but her ankle protested, shooting a sharp pain up her leg. She let out an audible wince and the smooth soles of her heeled boots struggled to gain purchase on the stones. She groaned inwardly; the last thing she’d wanted was to draw attention to herself but there were now half a dozen people watching the little scenario from the terrace of the nearby pub. Clearly, she was the best entertainment they’d had in months.

The old man’s hand was still extended. He winked at her. ‘Come on, before you go arse over tit again, eh?’

Interesting turn of phrase, thought Tiff, finally accepting his help and finding herself surprised at how easily he pulled her to her feet. She felt rainwater seep through her jeans. Oh great, wet knickers as well as a twisted ankle: just what every woman wanted.

Despite feeling slightly shaken, not to mention her sore ankle and damp bum,