The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) by Lizzie Church Page B
Authors: Lizzie Church
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escape.’
Bob immediately stood tall to protect his mama. With a great roar Mr Berkeley started to head for him instead. Laughing out loud Bob began to run away. Kathryn reached the staging post at the same time as Mrs Wright, who had hidden nearby, whilst the jubilant Bob succeeded in evading capture by dint of a few sneaky twists and turns and not a little unwonted slowness on the part of his pursuer. Mr Berkeley threw up his arms , panting, in defeat.
‘I see you are all too slippery for me,’ he confessed, grinning. ‘You are all too good at getting away. Come along, then – we need to continue our ramble by the water’s edge before the tide starts to turn.’
He took Bob by the hand, led the way down a steep little pathway leading to the rocky edge, and, reminding the ladies to take great care on the slippery surface, set off again towards Portland to the south.
Mr Berkeley had determined on yet another treat for Bob. As they rounded the end of the rocks they came to a pretty little cove, a little way back from which stood a tiny and somewhat intriguing thatched cottage standing entirely on its own. Andrew lifted Bob up the rocky edge, jumped up himself, and then leaned down to offer his sister a hand. Kathryn managed to scramble up by herself and avoided his eye. They made their way over to the cottage, which turned out not to be a cottage at all but rather some kind of waiting room which opened out towards the water and was furnished inside with a range of benches for people to sit on. A stout rope led from one side of the building right down to the water, and as she looked along it Kathryn became aware of an odd-looking, flat barge making its way towards them, being propelled by means of a ferryman hauling at the rope. She pointed it out to Bob. Bob’s eyes almost popped when he saw it, and even more so when he saw not only the ferryman but a pony and trap, two shabby gigs and several men with horses standing quietly on the deck. He tore himself from his mama and raced to the edge to get a better look. Then Mr Berkeley asked whether he would like to have a ride on it. Would he like to have a ride? What young man of five and three quarters would not like to have a ride? So as soon as the ferry had relinquished its load Mr Berkeley paid their penny fares, assisted everyone on board, and almost before they knew it they were being transported smoothly across the little channel which separated the mainland from Portland Island itself.
Once on the other side Andrew fished about in his pockets and, much to the surprise of Bob and the admiration of the ladies, produced four small pastries which they sat to eat (in some little discomfort) on the pebbly foreshore nearby . Kathryn stared out to sea as she ate. The area was busy w ith boats – square-rigged brig s, little fishing boats, the occasional pleasure craft with brightly coloured sails and an unhurried air. She was trying her best to appreciate the day for what it was. Mr Berkeley had obviously put a good deal of thought and preparation into it and she had to feel grateful to him for it. But she was finding it unusually difficult to enjoy, when all she could think of were regrets. Why had she succumbed to the shallow, fatal charms of Giles when she did? Why could Mr Berkeley not have appeared on the beach a year ago, before she had married him? Why had she allowed herself to be drawn so compellingly to the thoughtful, kind, loving man who sat so closely next to her that their shoulders touched, when she had known all along that it was wrong? Why could life not be perfect – perfect like this every day? She gave a little sigh and watched idly as Mr Berkeley and Bob, hav ing devoured their pastry , rose together to race up the great shingle bank that faced them close to the shore. She heard Bob’s giggles and Mr Berkeley’s deep laughter as they found themselves slipping backwards down it again almost as quickly as they raced up. Mrs Wright, too, sat and
Bob immediately stood tall to protect his mama. With a great roar Mr Berkeley started to head for him instead. Laughing out loud Bob began to run away. Kathryn reached the staging post at the same time as Mrs Wright, who had hidden nearby, whilst the jubilant Bob succeeded in evading capture by dint of a few sneaky twists and turns and not a little unwonted slowness on the part of his pursuer. Mr Berkeley threw up his arms , panting, in defeat.
‘I see you are all too slippery for me,’ he confessed, grinning. ‘You are all too good at getting away. Come along, then – we need to continue our ramble by the water’s edge before the tide starts to turn.’
He took Bob by the hand, led the way down a steep little pathway leading to the rocky edge, and, reminding the ladies to take great care on the slippery surface, set off again towards Portland to the south.
Mr Berkeley had determined on yet another treat for Bob. As they rounded the end of the rocks they came to a pretty little cove, a little way back from which stood a tiny and somewhat intriguing thatched cottage standing entirely on its own. Andrew lifted Bob up the rocky edge, jumped up himself, and then leaned down to offer his sister a hand. Kathryn managed to scramble up by herself and avoided his eye. They made their way over to the cottage, which turned out not to be a cottage at all but rather some kind of waiting room which opened out towards the water and was furnished inside with a range of benches for people to sit on. A stout rope led from one side of the building right down to the water, and as she looked along it Kathryn became aware of an odd-looking, flat barge making its way towards them, being propelled by means of a ferryman hauling at the rope. She pointed it out to Bob. Bob’s eyes almost popped when he saw it, and even more so when he saw not only the ferryman but a pony and trap, two shabby gigs and several men with horses standing quietly on the deck. He tore himself from his mama and raced to the edge to get a better look. Then Mr Berkeley asked whether he would like to have a ride on it. Would he like to have a ride? What young man of five and three quarters would not like to have a ride? So as soon as the ferry had relinquished its load Mr Berkeley paid their penny fares, assisted everyone on board, and almost before they knew it they were being transported smoothly across the little channel which separated the mainland from Portland Island itself.
Once on the other side Andrew fished about in his pockets and, much to the surprise of Bob and the admiration of the ladies, produced four small pastries which they sat to eat (in some little discomfort) on the pebbly foreshore nearby . Kathryn stared out to sea as she ate. The area was busy w ith boats – square-rigged brig s, little fishing boats, the occasional pleasure craft with brightly coloured sails and an unhurried air. She was trying her best to appreciate the day for what it was. Mr Berkeley had obviously put a good deal of thought and preparation into it and she had to feel grateful to him for it. But she was finding it unusually difficult to enjoy, when all she could think of were regrets. Why had she succumbed to the shallow, fatal charms of Giles when she did? Why could Mr Berkeley not have appeared on the beach a year ago, before she had married him? Why had she allowed herself to be drawn so compellingly to the thoughtful, kind, loving man who sat so closely next to her that their shoulders touched, when she had known all along that it was wrong? Why could life not be perfect – perfect like this every day? She gave a little sigh and watched idly as Mr Berkeley and Bob, hav ing devoured their pastry , rose together to race up the great shingle bank that faced them close to the shore. She heard Bob’s giggles and Mr Berkeley’s deep laughter as they found themselves slipping backwards down it again almost as quickly as they raced up. Mrs Wright, too, sat and
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