Short story
Determined to uncover Gregory’s dark secret, Fiona tracks him down to the beach
From her hiding place, Fiona saw James Gregory raise his torch and swing it from side to side. The boat turned towards the tumbledown jetty in the cove below. As Gregory set off towards the beach, Fiona sank down into the shadow of the hedge. Should she risk going back in to the cottage to wake Duncan? She decided against it and resolved instead to follow the cliff path and get as close to the jetty as possible. If she could establish what they were up to, she’d be able to report it to the police later. Buoyed up by the prospect of catching Gregory and his accomplices in the act, Fiona set off along the route she and Duncan had taken earlier. By night, however, the cliff path looked very different. It seemed narrower, with twists and turns she didn’t recall and a steeper descent to the beach. Her confidence waning, Fiona kept a lookout for a kink in the path that would take her to the cove, but in the moonlight the scene had taken on a strange otherworldly feel, making it hard to keep her bearings. Shadowy rocks seemed to shift as the moon played hide-and-seek with the clouds. Fiona glanced up anxiously. The moon was about to break from a bank of clouds and when that happened she would be horribly exposed. Panic rose in her chest. Then she spotted a ramshackle shelter built into the side of the cliff. She didn’t remember noticing it earlier on their walk, but everything looked different at night. She could see a woman’s face at the window. A hand beckoned her in. Her heart hammering, Fiona threw caution to the winds as the moon emerged from the clouds and shone brightly, turning night into day. “You’ll be safe here, my lovely,” the woman smiled. She was bundled up against the cold with a blanket draped around her shoulders. Fiona whispered: “Thank you. Were you keeping watch?” The woman nodded. “What are they up to?” Fiona asked. “Listen!” Following the woman’s lead, Fiona crouched beside her. There was a gap in the wooden panels large enough to give them a view of the jetty. They were close enough to hear the men talking. “You got the goods?” “In the cottage. Keeping warm by the fire.” Abruptly, the woman stood up and said: “I’ll meet you back at the cottage.” Fiona stared. “Don’t you want to know what it is they are keeping by the fire?” Before she could question her further, the woman was gone. Cautiously, Fiona followed, relieved to see that the clouds were once more scudding across the face of the moon, providing welcome cover. She scanned the path, but her companion was nowhere in sight. Aggrieved, Fiona set off after her. It only took minutes to make her way back, but it seemed like an eternity before she reached the comforting solidity of the cottages. With every step, Fiona feared the rough snatch of a hand grabbing her and pulling her back. She was relieved to find Duncan waiting for her at the entrance to the garden. He held out his hand and she clutched it, giving it a grateful squeeze. She gasped: “I was right!” “I know. I’ve been watching from the bedroom window. The police are on their way.” “The men are heading up to Gregory’s cottage.”
“I’ll go down and untie their boat.” Fiona berated herself for not thinking of this. It would have been easy to make her way down to the jetty from the shelter. If only the woman hadn’t suggested returning to the cottage. “Did you see anyone else?” Fiona asked. “A woman?” Duncan shook his head. “No. Go back to our cottage and lock the door.” “Be careful!” She watched him until he disappeared from view. “Best be quick, my lovely.” Fiona swung round and saw the woman silhouetted in the light from Gregory’s open door. “Where did you disappear to?” she demanded indignantly. Ignoring the question, the woman said: “They’re safe by the fire.” Fiona swept past her, saying: “If you knew a short cut you could have shared it with me.” In front of the wood burner was a box. With trepidation, Fiona lifted the lid. Inside was a blanket. Tweaking the corner, she saw that nestled in its folds were six large eggs. Her eyes widened in surprise. The eggs looked fragile, as if the merest touch would break them. Gently, she replaced the blanket and carefully picked up the box. Above the noise of the sea, she heard the gate click. “Off you go, my lovely.” “But what about you?” Fiona asked. “I’ll be alright.” Fiona ran for the back door. Clutching the box, she squeezed through a gap in the hedge then sank down into the shadows. Behind her, she heard the door fly open. “They can’t have gone far!” “I can’t believe you didn’t lock up! What kind of amateur are you?” Another voice interrupted. “The kind that just got himself nicked.” A dozen torches blazed into life. Dazzled, Fiona stood up. Gregory, in handcuffs, glared at her. “You?” A young policeman relieved her of the box. Fiona asked: “What’s in there?” “Peregrine falcon eggs. Worth thousands of pounds on the black market.” Duncan appeared and put an arm around her shoulder. “You okay?” “Yes. You?” He nodded. The policeman said: “We’ve been keeping Gregory under surveillance, but we didn’t know how he was going to get the eggs out of the country. Without your quick thinking and bravery we’d have been too late.” Later, Fiona relaxed into her husband’s arms in front of the fire. “A romantic weekend, she says. A chance to relax, she says.” Fiona laughed. “Slightly more drama than I expected,” she admitted. Duncan said: “We should do this again, only without the smugglers and the police. And I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’ve decided to cut back my hours and let Jamie take the lead more. I might even have time for the odd date night.” Fiona raised her eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” Duncan chuckled and settled the woollen throw around her shoulders. “I love you, Fi. I probably don’t say that often enough.” There was a knock on the door and the young policeman entered. He said: “Thanks again for your help.” Fiona asked: “What happened to the woman? Is she okay?” “What woman?” “She was keeping watch in the shack.” “Was she dark-haired? Wearing a shawl?” “It was more like a blanket, but yes,” Fiona replied. “Do you know her?” The policeman smiled. “Everyone round here knows about Mary Penhallow. Her husband was lost at sea back along. Legend has it that every winter, when there’s a full moon, Mary waits for her Thomas to return. That’s why us locals call it Moon Cove.”
About our author
Ellie Holmes is the author of several novels including The Flower Seller and her latest book, White Lies. She is inspired by the coast and countryside.