“Excuse me, but do you know a house called White Sails?”

“Ooo arr,” he said, nodding with enthusiasm. He was an older man with a weathered face and a mouth missing several teeth. He was wearing an old sack over his shoulders and a shapeless faded hat on his head. “Fish!”

“No, I don’t want fish. I want directions to a house called White Sails.” I tried not to sound too exasperated.

“That’s right. Err wants fish.” He had a really strong burr to his accent and he was grinning at me. Clearly only the village idiot would be out in rain like this.

“White Sails,” I said again, trying to be patient. “It’s a house on the coast near here. Could you tell us how to get there?”

He was eyeing me up and down as if I was a creature from a distant planet. “Round little rumps,” he said with even greater enthusiasm.

“Well, really.” I stalked back to the car.

“Disgusting old man.” I slammed the car door behind me. “He was leering at me and then he said I had round little rumps. The nerve of it.”

Belinda looked at me and then suddenly started laughing.

“It’s not funny. You might not mind having men comment on your shape but I certainly do. Especially when I’m cold, wet and hungry.”

“He was telling us the way, darling. I’ve remembered now. The headland is called Little Rumps. We’re on the right track.”

“Little Rumps,” I muttered. “What a stupid name for a headland. Camels and Splatt and now Little Rumps. This really is a very silly place!”

Belinda steered us carefully around the side of the headland. I could feel the motorcar being buffeted by the wind. Below us we could see the waves crashing against the rocky shore. Then the road wound up and over the top, leaving the shore. The rain had abated as quickly as it had begun and the last rays of a setting sun poked between dark clouds over an angry Atlantic Ocean. It was a red sun, painting the landscape as if it were on fire. On the top of the hill, rising from the short cropped grass, was another standing stone and now it glowed bloodred. In that fading light it almost looked like a figure standing there and I shivered.

“This is a spooky sort of place, isn’t it?”

“Not normally,” Belinda said. “It will look much better by daylight. I only have fond memories, you know. Of course Granny’s proper house was down by the estuary, where it’s more sheltered and not so bleak as here.”

We crested the headland, passing that standing stone, then dropped to the other side to find another bay ahead of us. Suddenly she jammed on the brakes and pointed. “Look. Here we are.”

There was a sign on the gate beside the road. It said White Sails.

Chapter 4

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15