Page 4 of The Rising Tide

‘Lucy! Hey, Luce!’

She turns to see Matt Guinness edging through the crowd. Matt’s an old classmate – an original resident of Skentel. Straggle-haired and balding, he lives with his mother in a fisherman’s cottage overlooking the harbour. Judging from his polo shirt, he’s currently working at the Goat Hotel on the high street.

‘Been looking out for you,’ he says, eyes bright with the prospect of sharing bad news. ‘TheLazy Susan. Ain’t that your latest fella’s boat?’

No point clarifying she’s been with Daniel nine years. ‘Do you know what happened?’

Matt scratches the wisps of beard sprouting from his chin. Unlike his hair, his fingernails – long and curved like the claws of a burrowing mole – are scrupulously clean. When he grins, he reveals a lifetime of bad dentistry. ‘Maybesomeonedidn’t check their mooring lines.’

Lucy shakes her head. The harbour water churns white as the lifeboat’s engines reverse thrust. ‘You think she floated all the way round the breakwater without anyone noticing? Kind of unlikely, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. Weirder things have happened.’

‘Bee said she was found drifting in open sea.’

Behind her a vehicle horn honks, followed by a brief squawk of siren. Matt’s gaze settles on something over her shoulder. ‘Uh-oh,’ he says, grin widening. ‘Looks like Hubby’s got some explaining to do.’

Lucy turns to see a Land Rover Defender in coastguard livery nudging through the crowd. She’s not going to get anything useful from Matt Guinness. Excusing herself, she pushes through the onlookers. She’s tempted to follow the breakwater to where theLazy Susanis being tied up, but the quickest way to find out what’s happening is to track down her ex.

7

Skentel’s lifeboat station sits high above the quay, on a coursed limestone base that juts from the cliffs of Mortis Point. Its slipway extends across the water, past the low-tide point. From the quay, a switchback metal staircase climbs sixty feet to the entrance deck. Lucy hurries up it.

She’s halfway to the top when sound explodes overhead. A coastguard helicopter, nosecone and tail boom painted bright red, blasts over Mortis Point. It follows the shoreline south, anti-collision beacon flashing.

Thanks to Fin’s collection of plastic kits, Lucy recognizesthe model: a twin-engine AW189. It’s a beast of a machine, eight tons in weight, bristling with search-and-rescue apparatus. The whistle of its turbines competes with the clatter-roar of its rotor blades.

Down in the harbour the Tamar-class lifeboat throttles up, heading back out to sea. On the quay, the crowd continues to build. Lucy sees activity along the breakwater and on the floating dock. Some of the boats are getting ready to cast off.

Her unease grows. She climbs higher. Around her, the protective cage sings and vibrates. When she reaches the next switchback, she notices a police patrol car parked beside the coastguard Land Rover.

At last she arrives at the RNLI boathouse’s decked entranceway. Alec Paul, in T-shirt and salopettes, is standing outside the glass doors. Above his head, the sky has darkened to slate.

8

Alec’s a bear: six foot three, shaggy brown beard, shoulders like oak barrels. He drops a meaty paw around Lucy’s shoulders and guides her to the entrance.

‘Jake said you’d come. Asked me to look out for you. He’s been trying your mobile for the last hour.’

‘I was at home. You recovered theLazy Susan?’

Alec’s brow clenches, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. He looks over the railing. ‘Those guys are from Appledore. Decided they couldn’t leave her out there – not with what’s coming. Too dangerous for other boats.’

‘Is there much damage?’

His hand slides off her shoulder. He’s full-on frowning now. ‘I couldn’t say.’

Lucy casts a glance at the yacht. ‘She’s sitting pretty low, but at least they’ve got the pumps going. This storm front – we’re lucky the sea’s still as calm as it is.’

‘Yeah.’ Alec takes her arms. ‘Listen. Are you OK?’

Lucy thinks of the paperwork strewn across Daniel’s desk; of everything they’ve built these last nine years; how, until only a few weeks ago, it felt like a fortress.

There’s a sound in her ears like a far-off whistle. ‘The police are here,’ she says. ‘I guess that means she was stolen.’

‘Lucy, I’m not sure what you’ve heard. Whathaveyou heard?’

Something’s crawling in her stomach now. Alec’s wearing an expression she can’t place. ‘Bee said she was found drifting. Guy I know reckons she slipped her moorings but that can’t be true. Someone must’ve stolen her. Someone must’ve sneaked—’

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