“Good idea.” She negotiated a particularly sharp bend as the lane passed under a stand of trees, and drips rained onto us, thudding on the soft top roof. On the other side we emerged to a glimpse of shining water.

“The sea at last,” I said, uttering a little prayer of thanks that we had arrived safely.

“Not technically. It’s the Camel Estuary.”

“Camel?” I asked. “They have camels in Cornwall?”

“No, darling. It’s the name of a river and it must be high tide,” she said, “because at low tide this is almost all sandbars. But the end really is in sight now. Trengilly is just down on the shore. And from my recollection there is only one big house beyond Polzeath and then it’s just grass and rocks. White Sails must be on the other side of the headland.”

The road now climbed above the river estuary into which great waves from the Atlantic were rolling. On either side of us was nothing but bleak grass and heather. The rain had picked up again, blowing straight at us from the Atlantic Ocean. The windscreen wipers were working furiously.

“Bloody hell,” Belinda muttered we went around a sharp bend, rather too fast and rather close to the edge of what was now definitely the Atlantic Ocean and not an estuary. Yes, I know a lady does not swear, but there are extenuating circumstances and almost going over a cliff is one of them. She gave me a nervous grin. “I hope the house has good heating, don’t you? I’m ready for a bath and a nice hot cup of tea. Do you think there is a resident servant? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Very nice,” I said. “But not very likely that your grandmother would have kept a servant in a house you didn’t even know about. I’m rather hungry too. I hope that pub isn’t too far away.” I didn’t like to admit that I hadn’t seen any house since we left the last village behind. A steep upland of bare grass rose ahead of us, topped with a rocky outcropping. The road had become little more than a track.

“This can’t be right,” Belinda said. “I don’t remember this at all. I thought it was supposed to be near Trengilly.” She slowed the car to a crawl. “Oh, look. An answer to our prayers, darling. There’s someone to ask. Be an angel and find out, will you?”

“You want me to get out into that? I’ll be blown away.”

“You grew up in Scotland, darling. You’ve faced much worse. See. He’s not being blown away.”

Reluctantly I tied a scarf firmly around my head and stepped out into the full force of the gale. A man was leaning on a gate, watching us. He didn’t seem to mind getting wet at all. I went over to him.