The House At Sea’s End

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 ciné 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.’

Ruth rings Clara who says she’s happy to stay for another hour or two. ‘We’re having a lovely time. We’ve built lots of towers, listened to music and done some finger painting.’ Ruth feels inadequate. She’s never painted with Kate. And she notes that Clara’s played Kate music instead of plonking her in front of the telly to watch In the Night Garden. Clara is obviously far better at the baby stuff than she is.

They drive in convoy back to Sea’s End House. As they reach the gates the snow starts to fall.

‘I should go back,’ says Ruth.

‘Oh, it won’t settle,’ says Hastings airily. ‘I’m always right about the weather.’

CHAPTER 22

The projector is in Hastings’ study, a book-lined room with cracked leather sofas and two large dog beds. There is a fire and it is altogether cosier than the glacial drawing room. Ruth stands by the fireplace trying to warm her hands. The smell of dog and wood-smoke fills the air. Hastings draws the red velvet curtains and starts to fiddle with the projector, the sort seen in old films, two wheels with tape running between them. A huge screen is pulled down in front of the books and Stella Hastings comes in with tea and biscuits.

‘Did you ever see such weather for April?’ she says.

‘Do you think it will get worse?’ asks Ruth anxiously. The room is too warm and womb-like. She can see herself settling down on one on the sofas and never getting up again. She must get home to Kate.

‘No, it won’t last,’ says Stella soothingly.

Stella backs out. The projector starts to whirr, circles with numbers inside appear on the screen. 8,7,6,5,4,3,2. Then, with what feels like shocking suddenness, a face appears. A dark-haired young man with little round glasses.

‘What I am about to say,’ he intones, ‘is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’