They drove up on the M5 motorway for most of the journey north. Neither of them had been to Somerset before. When they came off the motorway, it was a short journey into Burnham-on-Sea, which had a long stretch of coastline. They passed through the touristy area, where the beaches and promenade were busy with people sunbathing and eating ice creams. A warm burst of song from a Salvation Army brass band floated on the air, and the smell of fish and chips and candy floss mingled in the sunny breeze. Farther along the seafront, a crowd of children and parents sat in front of a Punch-and-Judy show close to an amusement arcade.
Then the crowds started to thin out as the promenade turned into an ordinary road, and the beach grew wilder. They came to a fork, and Tristan’s GPS instructed them to take the road on the right. This led away from the seafront; the pavement disappeared, and a row of detached houses sprang up between them and the beach. They passed the houses, which were big, with huge plots of land. The road seemed very quiet, and then they saw why. It came to a dead end with a tall metal gate and a high wall. A sign on the gate said LANDSCOMBE GATED COMMUNITY.
“In five hundred meters, you’ll reach your destination,” said the GPS in the clipped, slightly surprised-sounding female voice.
There was an intercom next to the gate, and beyond, they could see a row of luxurious-looking houses on the seafront.
“Shall I ring the intercom?” asked Tristan. Kate looked around and turned to look back through the rearview mirror.
“Let’s go back to that fork in the road. It looks like that road leads to the beach. See if we can get closer to their house on foot,” said Kate.
Tristan put the car in reverse and turned round in front of the gate.
The GPS voice started telling them to turn around, and Tristan muted it. When they got back to the fork, he took the left turn.
The road ran alongside a wild, rugged beach lined with sand dunes and marram grass. They now passed the row of houses from the beach side, and they were all perched elegantly on a hill and set back from the beach.
“It should be just up here,” said Tristan, peering at the map on the GPS as they passed a large, crumbling gray house with a pillared entrance. It was the only house with an overgrown front lawn.
Just after this house, the tarmac road ended, and Tristan’s car bounced along an unmade road of sand and grass. It ended at a small parking area for three or four cars and a low metal barrier where a footpath led onto the beach.
“Those houses there must be in the gated community,” said Tristan, indicating the footpath. A group of four houses spaced far apart sat up on a hill a hundred meters from the beach.
As Kate and Tristan got out of the car, the sun disappeared behind a thick layer of silvery clouds, and it was colder than it had been in Exeter. Directly in front of the car were the dunes and a vast, empty expanse of burnt-orange-colored sand. The wind was blowing this fine sand into undulating ridges. The sand beyond the dunes was darker and looked wet, but it seemed to stretch out for a mile or more. Kate couldn’t judge the exact distance, but she couldn’t see the water’s edge. The wet expanse of sand was flat and dotted with pools of seawater. A group of gulls hovered above a large pool of water and were cawing as they dove down to pick at shells. A thin mist was rolling off the water, and it suddenly felt more like autumn than early summer.
It was an eerie, deserted spot, thought Kate. The patch of beach in Thurlow Bay was cut off from Ashdean, but it never felt lonely. She thought back to Jake’s visits when he was small and how he used to love wading and exploring the rock pools at low tide. This patch of beach, in comparison, felt hostile.
Kate crossed her arms, feeling chills in just her thin jeans and T-shirt. She took a sweater out of the car and pulled it on, and Tristan did the same.
They followed the footpath, which ran between the beach and a strip of ferns and weeds, for a hundred yards. They came to a big metal sign planted in the sand. Tristan had seen it before in one of the pictures Bishop had shown him.
“Warning, do not walk or drive any kind of vehicle out to the soft sand and mud at low tide,” said Kate, reading the sign. “Do you think that’s low tide? It’s really far out.”
“Looks like it,” said Tristan. He turned and pointed out a large LA-style white box with a paved terrace and landscaped gardens. “And that looks like Max Jesper’s house.”
There was one more house beyond, a small redbrick bungalow that was dwarfed in comparison. Max’s house was surrounded by a tall wall with white cladding. A steep sand track ran up alongside the sidewall, perpendicular with the seafront. It was wide enough for a car, and the sand was churned up from footfall. There was a metal bollard in the middle of the track with a sign on it that read NO ACCESS. DEAD END.
“I bet that leads up to the house and the private road on top,” said Kate.
They started to walk up the track alongside the wall bordering the property. It was almost two meters in height, so they couldn’t see into the back garden.
“It’s hard going in the sand,” said Kate, panting. She was wearing a thin pair of trainers.
“Good for the leg muscles,” said Tristan. At the top, there was another bollard, and the track opened out onto the private road. There was a large garage door in the wall, which was closed, and next to it a small front door, made of steel. There was no number, and no handle—just a keyhole. There was a small intercom to the side, and Kate was about to press it when the steel door opened.
An elderly lady wearing a pleated tartan skirt and a woolen fleece and Wellington boots came out. She had a carrier bag filled with fruit, and a key in her hand. She looked up and saw them.
“Oh! You made me jump,” she said. “Can I help you?” She had a soft Scottish accent, and she looked at Kate and Tristan suspiciously.
“Hi. We were just about to ring the bell for Nick,” said Kate, thinking quickly. “We’re friends from Exeter passing through. Is he in?”
“Yes. Hello,” said Tristan, smiling.
“No, he’s not in,” she said.
“Oh. We knew that Max is in Spain to see his sister . . . He’s back next week, on the fourth, isn’t he?” said Kate, thanking God that they’d run into Bishop at Jesper’s.
The elderly lady relaxed a little.
“You’re their neighbor, aren’t you? It’s . . .” Kate hesitated.
“Elspeth,” she said. She came out of the doorway and closed the door.
“Of course, hello. I’m Maureen, and this is John.”
“Hi,” said Tristan, looking at Kate.
She was thinking on her feet, and these were the only two names that had popped in her head at short notice.
“Nice to meet you. Nick’s away until Monday . . . Whenever they’re away, they ask me to pop in and water the plants, check the post. Feed the fish. They’ve got lots of fish in their pond,” said Elspeth.