Annie drove out of the West Kent bustle, through the leafy Weald, with its miles of orchards and converted oast houses, toward the coast. She had never lived close to the sea, and the idea of it felt like an adventure.

She began to get glimpses of the ocean to her right: snatches of brilliant azure peeping between mossy hilltops. Annie followed the signs and found herself, at last, driving through the quaint little village of Willow Bay. Whitewashed cottages with wisteria climbing the walls and wildflower gardens, crisped at the edges by the sun, swayed in the sea breeze. There were two pubs directly opposite one another, the Sunken Willow and the Captain’s Bounty, and both had that look of charming decrepitude on the outside that promised a good home-cooked Sunday roast within. The thatched roof of the Captain’s Bounty drooped significantly on one side, and the wall beneath it looked as if it had been partially swallowed by the flower bed. And the Sunken Willow, Annie thought, was most probably only held upright by the thick mass of dark green ivy that smothered three sides of the building.

The road curved sharply to the left and a sign—hand-painted—read: Caution! Steep Hill. Check Brakes! Annie swallowed. How steep could it be?

The road narrowed as it descended. To the left, cottages seemed to cling to the climbing hillside, their pretty landscaped gardens trickling down to precarious driveways carved out of the crag. On her right side, dropping down away, were equally tenacious houses nestled in the cliff face, half shrouded by trees, their chimneys peeking out above towering rhododendrons.

Soon tarmac was replaced by the crunch of shingle as Annie pulled, at last, into a clearing at the bottom of the hill and parked, as she had been advised by Mari. She climbed out of the car and was greeted by the clack and hiss of waves on stone. A warm wind whipped her hair about her face, so Annie quickly pulled it back into a ponytail.

Beyond the small parking area were several stone steps leading up to a promenade. Behind her were dunes sprouting long grass and old rock falls that had become part of the landscape, and beyond them, a thick mass of thorny brambles scaled the hillside from which Annie had just emerged.

To the left, the promenade curved for maybe half a mile before disappearing around a jutting cliff.

The breeze smelled of warm seaweed, and Annie tasted salt on her lips. She shielded her face with her hands against the sun and followed the path round with her eyes. In the distance, set back a little from the promenade, Annie could make out a two-story building, with a gabled roof and what looked like a fenced garden to the rear.

“Surely not!” she said to herself. “Surely no one lives there!”