Driving round to the terrace they found the Rolls parked, Marshal at the wheel, Snape holding open a rear passenger door.
Paula parked behind the Rolls, the driver's door flew open and Marshal stormed back to Paula's open window. He glared as he spoke. `What the devil do you think Snape's holding open the rear door for?' `I have no idea,' she replied with a smile. `Because,' he rasped, 'you were supposed to be travelling down with me. Isn't a Rolls good enough for you? What's happened to the beat-up old Merc? Conked out at last?' `It's Newman's car and he's using it today,' she said with another smile. 'And I prefer independent transport. So does Tweed.' `If you don't follow me closely you'll never get there…' `You handled that well,' Tweed said quietly as they drove away.
The gates were opening as the Rolls approached them. Tweed glanced back, saw Lavinia in the doorway. She had opened the gates and waved. Tweed waved back.
Driving along the narrow lane to Gladworth, Paula kept her distance behind the Rolls, which was roaring along, headlights on blinding full beam, horn honking non-stop. `I won't lose him,' she promised Tweed, 'but I need space. Then if he hits something I've time to pull up.' `Very sensible.'
The Rolls shot through Gladworth's High Street and a pedestrian had to jump clear. Marshal shouted something at her and then Gladworth was behind them. `Lavinia told me,' Paula remarked, 'that a technical team had photographed Crystal's wardrobe and taken away those two beastly collars. Will they arrest her?' `Not a chance. Not enough evidence. Her fingerprints were neither on the collars nor on the door knobs.' `Are we getting anywhere with the case? Any strong suspects?' `Not really. Yet. Paula, do you mind if I have a nap?' 'I'll be as quiet as the proverbial mouse.'
Tweed relaxed, clasped his hands, closed his eyes.
Paula knew he was not actually sleeping: he was taking the opportunity to sift all the information he'd acquired so far, playing back the conversations he'd had at Hengistbury, searching for something odd, an inconsistency.
They made good progress. The Rolls was going full out; Paula kept within the speed limits but never lost Marshal. She was enjoying herself as they passed from one county to another. The scenery kept changing. Rolling hill country, long flat plains, copses perched on hilltops. The sun continued to blaze down.
They had covered a lot of ground when the weather changed dramatically. The sun vanished. A fierce wind blew up, menacing low thunderclouds filled the sky. Tweed opened his eyes. They were driving along a wide stretch of road when Marshal signalled, pulled up at the side. Paula lowered the window she had earlier raised when the wind started blowing in. She angled the Audi alongside the Rolls, where Marshal had lowered his window on the passenger side. `Isn't this just wonderful,' he bellowed. `What is?' Paula asked. `Stormy weather! Just what we need to demonstrate what the Star Sprite can do in a rough sea.' `I'm so glad someone is pleased,' she retorted. `You'll both come out with me aboard her. You'll love it.' `No, we won't,' Tweed said firmly. 'I hate the sea and Paula will stay with me on terra firma.' `Wimps!' yelled Marshal.
He had kept his engine running and suddenly he took off without warning. Paula gave Tweed a look and drove on, seeing Marshal in the distance. Soon they were driving through narrow lanes, only room for one car, with steep banks rising high above them. Devon, she thought. Godawful motoring country. They left it behind fairly soon and entered a quite different landscape. Tweed sat up straight to have a good look. `Cornwall,' he said.
Inland great stretches of rugged rocky ridges headed westward for miles. Nothing grew. It was a desolate and forbidding desert. Then to the north he saw the sea not far away below them, a raging tumult of giant waves, rolling higher and higher until they hit the shore in a series of thunderous explosions.
They were heading down a rough road towards the sea, had almost reached it when the Rolls swung up onto a small headland. The car stopped, Marshal stepped out, flung his arms wide apart in a theatrical gesture. `Paradise!' he shouted against the howl of the wind when Paula stopped the Audi and they joined him as Tweed struggled into his overcoat. `One word for it,' Paula commented. 'What's that?' She pointed to a long flat area inside a wide bowl with a shed nearly. A windsock was streaming out, parallel to the ground. `Bloody private airfield. Not used much, thank God. I tried to have it closed down but the council wallahs refused. Follow me down this path and watch your footing.'
They arrived at a point a few yards above the pebble beach and Paula stared. At three different levels, but built almost on top of each other, were rows of white stone cottages. Below another huge wave trundled in. `This,' Marshal announced, 'is Seacove.' `Is this all there is?' Tweed asked bluntly. `My hideaway is the top level, converted inside at absolutely no attention to expense.'
Between Marshal's cottage and the next one was a wide gap. It continued down between the cottages on the low levels, then increased in steepness as it reached the beach. `What's that ramp-like thing for?' Tweed enquired. `You'll see,' Marshal said gleefully.
As he led them to a heavy back door in his cottage Paula thought she heard the faint sound of a plane, then a massive wave broke and she felt spray on her face. Once beyond the back door Marshal had unlocked she almost gasped. The interior was luxuriously furnished, the plastered walls painted a tasteful shade of blue with pictures in gilded frames hung at intervals. The dining table (she presumed) was an antique, as were the carved chairs and an escritoire. Armchairs suggested it was also a living room. Tweed walked over and stared at two portraits of men in strange dress. He looked at Marshal. `Portraits of your grandfather and his partner, Pitt and Ezra?' `Right first time.'
Paula jumped as something heavy slapped against the windows on the sea side. Water from the wave was slithering down. `Couldn't the windows get smashed in?' she asked. `Not likely, my dear. Armoured glass.' `You've made an amazing job of the conversion' `Not me.' He grinned. 'Lavinia was in charge of that.'
He had taken a large heavy-looking enamel box from the boot of the Rolls and carried it in. He was looking round for somewhere to put it when Tweed grasped the handle to help him. It was very heavy. Marshal was stronger than he'd thought. Marshal took the whole weight, dumped the box on a ledge. `Refrigerated. Lunch for later. Prepared by Lavinia. Don't trust what Mrs Grandy might have shoved in. Now, we'll look at the view, then I'll show you the Star Sprite.'
Tweed and Paula gazed out of the window, were appalled at what they saw. They had a clear view down over the tiled sloping roofs of the two levels of cottages below. Then came the pebble beach, half obscured by surf from the recent wave.
Beyond was a small bay. Its distant narrow exit to the ocean was partly enclosed by a cape on either side which made the exit look very constricted. Marshal stood between them, now wearing a blue peaked cap. He pointed to their left. A huge granite buttress with jagged outcrops sat on the mainland as though guarding the bay. `That's Pindle Rock,' Marshal explained. 'It once had a huge spike, or pindle, projecting upwards. Got blown down by an exceptional storm. OK if you keep clear – and there is another hazard. You've got to watch it sailing our or returning. I'm talking about an underwater current midway across.' `I know this is Seacove,' Tweed said, 'but where are we on the coast?' `This -' Marshal embraced the section before the exit into the ocean – 'is Oyster Bay. Because it's shaped like one. Fishermen used to occupy these cottages but the fish went away so I bought their cottages for a song. Surfers used to be a pest, until three were killed out there on the same day.' `I can well believe it,' said Paula.
She was gazing with fascinated horror at the ocean. A storm was building up. Waves like mobile mountains were building up approaching Oyster Bay. It was sheer havoc. `Boat's through here,' Marshal said, leading them to a door at the right-hand end of the cottage. They were inside a huge shed with metal walls. Paula stared. Perched on the rail-like structure was what looked like a miniature cruise liner. Marshal handed Tweed and Paula yellow oilskins with hoods. At the same time he must have pressed a button. The huge glass door at the seaward end elevated and the wind had briefly abated, so there was a sinister quiet. `You'll need these or you'll get soaked,' Marshal insisted, still holding the oilskins. The wind began to rise again. `We are not going out in your yacht! 'Tweed shouted. `And I mean it!' `Landlubbers,' Marshal said with a sneer.