A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,99
to get out of the house, so she walked along the coastal path. Even though it was a sunny day, she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up, feeling like a fugitive herself. She rested on the cliff a little way below the lookout station, a few hundred yards away on one of the narrow paths that had been formed by walkers exploring a collapse of the cliff from years before. It was now thick with gorse and bracken, but no amount of warning signs prevented people from using it to reach the beach below.
The watchers on shift – Trevor and Doreen – could probably see her. In fact, if they were doing their job correctly, they would see her, but they were good people and they’d take her excuse that she had personal reasons for not going on shift at face value.
She kept walking and then sat for a while at a bench above the station, and the cove, looking down at the place where she’d last seen Nate. She’d watched him launch on that Saturday morning and had then gone home to do the washing, clean the cottage and do some marking.
She’d expected him home after lunch and he’d never come back.
It was still almost impossible to believe that he was now thousands of miles away living a different life.
By now he’d know that she knew he was alive. He must do, the South African police would surely have been in touch?
Was he shocked when they called him? Would he try to deny it? Who would he tell? His partner already knew or had guessed … what about any friends he had?
Did he have any conscience at all about it? A shred of guilt? Would he try to contact her by phone or email – or even return to the UK? She presumed he was within his rights to return.
At least she didn’t have to tell his cousins and uncle. The local police had said they’d do that.
So now she had this brief window before the news got out, as it surely would. Tiff had been cruel to be kind in warning her and she’d discussed it with Lachlan too. The calls from the press, the reporters and cameras would land at any moment.
She’d had to tell her boss at work, in case they hounded her colleagues, and she knew she’d also have to tell her fellow Wave Watchers, the neighbours, Dirk, Troy and Evie … all of whom she could rely on. Beyond that close circle, she realised that her most private, personal agony was about to become public property and she couldn’t do a thing about it.
She got home to find Tiff back and waiting in the window, watching for her. She had the door open before Marina reached the step and practically hauled her inside. ‘Brace yourself,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid it’s started.’
Tiff had warned her it would be bad, but she must have sugared the pill, because Marina was horrified at the intense interest in her life over the next week or so. Her own story was soon due to appear in the Post, but before it did, there was a piece from Nate’s girlfriend. She was bemoaning how he’d lied to her and betrayed her and insisting she’d no idea that Marina existed.
Reporters knocked on neighbours’ doors – though no one told them anything – waited outside for her and took photos of the cottage, of Lachlan and of Tiff. The press delved into everything, raking it over endlessly. It trended on social media, made the local news, the national radio and was even discussed on a lunchtime talk show. Marina tried to keep away from the Internet as much as she could but it was impossible to avoid all the coverage.
Tiff had brokered a deal with the Post, a rival newspaper to her previous employer, and managed to negotiate an increase in the fee.
‘I don’t want a fee,’ Marina protested, but Tiff had insisted.
‘You’re having one, you should take it. I’ll have mine and I’ll give it to the Wave Watchers. And Porthmellow Lifeboat Station,’ she added with a wry smile.
‘I never thought of that. We need the station roof repairing before winter sets in.’
‘Then use it,’ Tiff said firmly. ‘If you can extract even the smallest bit of good out of this horrendous experience, you should take it. Now is the time to play dirty, my love, even if it goes against every scrap of your nature.’