A Letter to the Last House Before the Sea

by Liz Eeles

Genres: General Fiction; Literary Fiction; Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

High on the clifftops, Lettie takes a deep breath of salty air and opens the letter. There is no signature, and the old-fashioned handwriting is faint against the yellowed paper. The message, and the tiny gold key inside, will turn her life upside down…
Lettie Starcross makes her way along the cobbled streets of Heaven's Cove, clutching a little key and searching for answers about her kind, twinkly-eyed Great Aunt Iris, whom she misses terribly. With no job back home, and no-one in her family understanding how adrift she feels, Lettie wonders if her aunt was lonely just like her – is that why she fled this pretty seaside village years ago and never returned?
Staying at Driftwood House where Iris lived, now a cosy Bamp;B, Lettie can almost hear Iris's laughter on the breeze. And when she locks eyes with brooding fisherman Corey as he's singing a haunting sea shanty in the local tavern, the sparks that fly between them are a welcome distraction from her grief.
But everything changes when Lettie meets Corey's grandmother. Hearing the name ‘Iris Starcross', her wrinkled face turns pale. Then she tells Lettie a devastating secret: seventy years ago, a choice Iris made tore apart this tight-knit community.
Heartbroken, Lettie questions if she ever really understood her beloved aunt – and if Corey knew about this shocking rift all along. So when her sister calls begging her to come home, Lettie is torn. If she stays to find what the key unlocks, can she discover the truth about what Iris did – and fight for her own fresh start? Or will she be the next Starcross woman to run from Heaven's Cove forever?
An absolutely gorgeous listen that will whisk you away to the stunning Devon coast, about family secrets, long-lost love and coming home. Perfect for fans of Debbie Macomber, Rosanna Ley and Sheila O'Flanagan.

Release date: May 19, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Lettie

Lettie stepped out of the taxi and sucked in a deep breath of warm sea air. It was fresher than the mash of exhaust fumes and sweaty humanity she was used to, and the view before her was a world away from her tiny balcony in London. That overlooked an ugly brick warehouse and a cemetery filled with blackened gravestones. Whereas here…

Lettie gazed around, at the ocean stretching towards the horizon, a moving sheet of navy blue, and the clifftop sprinkled with yellow gorse. And there, in front of her, stood a whitewashed building whose front door was flanked by stone pots overflowing with flowers.

So this was Driftwood House. It was described online as being ‘on top of the world’, and Lettie could see why.

It was the only building perched on the steep cliff that towered about Heaven’s Cove, the pretty village her taxi had just driven through – a village of quaint cottages and gift shops that was currently rammed with tourists. Several had prompted a stream of muttered swear words from her taxi driver by wandering obliviously across the road. And his mood hadn’t improved when he’d seen the potholed track that led to the top of the cliff.

Lettie brushed auburn curls from her eyes and watched his taxi bump its way back towards the village. Then, she ran her finger across the rail ticket from Paddington still nestled in her jeans pocket, hardly able to believe she was here.

This trip had been a last-minute decision. She’d jumped on the train to Devon with hardly a second thought, even though she’d never been a spontaneous sort of person. Her approach to life was rather more low-key and cautious.

But perhaps losing someone you loved and then being fired from your job just five weeks later made you braver. It certainly made you… Lettie drew in another deep breath and tried to make sense of the jumbled thoughts racing through her mind. It made you unsettled, she decided; unsettled, scared, and sad. Very, very sad.

Tears filled her eyes as she touched the gold filigree key hanging around her neck. Here she was, where Iris grew up but without her beloved great-aunt by her side.

If Iris were here, she’d know just the right thing to say about being ‘let go’ from your job, thought Lettie, glancing at the seagulls screeching overhead. She’d know how to make Lettie laugh and ease the sadness that had washed over her in waves for weeks. How ironic that the only person whose cheerful chatter could ease her low mood was the very same person whose death had initially caused it.

A warm wind blew through Lettie’s hair as she made an effort to pull herself together. Iris would want life to go on, and Lettie’s family certainly seemed to be coping with the old lady’s death far better than she was. They hadn’t even seemed that upset at the funeral, though it had reduced her to a snivelling wreck.

Thoughts of her family prompted Lettie to check her phone that she’d switched to silent a few hours earlier. There were four missed calls and a barrage of texts from her sister, Daisy. The latest said, simply: Where the hell are you? Stop being such a drama queen and call me back.

For a trainee life coach, Daisy wasn’t the most empathetic of people. Lettie pushed the phone back into her pocket, picked up her case and walked to the front door of Driftwood House. She knocked and waited, noticing that, although the whitewash on the walls was pristine, the wooden window frames and tiled roof were more weather-beaten. Up here, on top of the world, strong winds and storms must sweep in off a deep, dark sea and batter the building.

Lettie shuddered and had just raised her hand to knock again when the door was wrenched open.

‘There you are! Welcome to Driftwood House! How was your journey from London? It can take a while, especially if there’s a queue for the taxis at Exeter station. Do come in.’

Lettie blinked under the verbal onslaught but stepped over the threshold into a sunny hall with black and white floor tiles and a grandfather clock in the corner. She’d assumed that women who ran seaside guesthouses would be on the older side of middle-aged, but the woman delivering such an effusive greeting was around thirty, like her, with bright brown eyes and fair hair that flicked up where it hit her shoulders.

‘Welcome to Driftwood House,’ the woman repeated, then winced. ‘Sorry, I think I’ve said that already. You must be Lettie. My name’s Rosie. Can I give you a hand?’ She picked up the suitcase and smiled. ‘Wow, you travel light.’

‘I didn’t need to bring much with me,’ answered Lettie, realising she’d forgotten loads of stuff, including her walking boots, socks and moisturiser.

She’d been in a rush to get away from London, which was silly really because – bereavement and unemployment aside – her life there was OK. She had family and friends who cared about her, and a tiny rented bedsit of her own.

But an increasing sense of loneliness was hard to shake these days. Her closest friends had either moved out of London or settled down and had babies, or both. And now Iris was gone too, and Lettie, in her more dramatic moments, felt as if she’d been cast adrift with no particular purpose in life.

She automatically felt again for the key hanging around her neck, as though it was a magical talisman with all the answers.

‘Let me get you settled in,’ said Rosie, breaking into Lettie’s thoughts. ‘Shall I give you a quick tour of the house and then I can take you to your room?’

‘That would be great. Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too, by the way.’

Rosie gave a wide, bright smile and, still carrying the suitcase, led Lettie into a sitting room that smelled of polish. Red roses were arranged in a vase on the stone mantelpiece and framed paintings of wild moorland lined the lemon-yellow walls.

‘You’re welcome to use this room whenever you like,’ said Rosie, standing next to the window with its view across the cliff to the sea. ‘There’s only me in the house at the moment so please make yourself at home.’

‘Is it just the two of us? I thought you’d be really busy during the summer months.’

‘To be honest, I’ve only just opened as a guesthouse and you’re my very first arrival. That’s my excuse for being horribly over the top when you arrived.’

When she wrinkled her nose, Lettie grinned. ‘You were only a tiny bit over the top, and you were very welcoming.’

‘That’s some comfort, at least. You weren’t supposed to be my first guest. A couple from Birmingham were due to arrive yesterday but had to cancel at the last minute because of illness.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘It was very disappointing, so I was delighted when you rang last night and asked if we had any rooms. If you don’t mind me asking, what made you choose Driftwood House?’

‘I was looking up the house online and when I saw on your website that it had been turned into a guesthouse, it seemed like fate that I should stay here.’

‘What made you search for Driftwood House in the first place?’

‘History.’ Lettie looked around the cosy room, imagining an echo of children’s voices from long ago. ‘Actually… I’m pretty sure my great-aunt Iris and her brother, my grandfather, were brought up here.’

‘In this actual house?’ Rosie sat down on the stone window ledge, her eyes open wide. ‘Really? That’s amazing. I grew up at Driftwood House too. When did your family live here?’

‘It would have been years ago. Iris and her family moved away from Devon in the Second World War. My grandparents died before I was born, but Iris only died last month.’

Rosie’s face clouded over. ‘I’m sorry. I lost someone close to me, recently, and it’s hard, isn’t it? Is that why you’re here in Heaven’s Cove, to see where your great-aunt lived?’

‘I guess so.’ Lettie paused, not willing to share her real reasons. ‘Iris never told me much about the place but I’m curious to see where she came from.’

‘Well, I think it’s wonderful that my first ever guest has a link to this fabulous old house,’ declared Rosie, hopping off the window ledge. ‘That sounds like fate, indeed! Let me show you the rest of the place. Some of it won’t have changed much since your great-aunt lived here.’

First, she took Lettie into a conservatory at the back of the house that had sweeping views across the Devon countryside.

‘This wouldn’t have been here in the war but it’s a great addition to the house. You can see almost all the way to Dartmoor,’ said Rosie, shielding her eyes against the sun streaming in through the salt-streaked glass. ‘The pictures on the sitting room walls are of Dartmoor too. They were painted by my mum.’ She glanced at a photo on the bookcase, of a woman in sunglasses smiling into the camera.

‘Was it your mum who…? You said you’d lost someone too.’ Lettie hesitated, worried she was speaking out of turn.

But Rosie nodded. ‘Yes, my mum died earlier this year.’

‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Thank you. She was an amazing woman.’ Rosie gently brushed her fingers across the photo before pulling back her shoulders. ‘Anyway. Next stop, the kitchen.’

Lettie followed her into the hall, imagining young Iris walking across the shiny tiles or running her hand along the polished bannister rail. The divide between past and present seemed wafer-thin in this windswept house.

‘The kitchen’s just been refurbished,’ said Rosie, opening a door into a large, sunny space. ‘But the butler sink is original, and the quarry tiles too.’

After a whistle-stop tour of the room, with its wooden worktops and cupboards painted dove-grey, she led Lettie up a wide staircase onto a sunny landing.

‘My bedroom’s along here, and there are four more bedrooms for guests, but I’ve put you on the next floor if that’s OK.’

Lettie followed her up more stairs to a large room at the very top of the house, tucked under the eaves.

‘This is such a lovely space.’ Lettie placed her case on the bed and gazed out of the Velux window.

The view from up here was magnificent. The village lay far below, its cottages clustered around the church. And the sea that edged Heaven’s Cove had already changed colour from navy near the horizon to bands of aqua and moss-green closer to shore.

Rosie beamed. ‘I’m so glad you think so. The attic has only just been converted and I’m delighted with it. There are towels in the en-suite and a hairdryer in the drawer over there.’ She started shifting from foot to foot. ‘I used to work in a B&B in Spain, but I’ve never run my own place before, so please do say if anything isn’t quite right. I won’t mind.’

‘Everything’s perfect,’ Lettie assured her, sitting on the bed and surveying the bright, uncluttered room. ‘Thank you.’

‘Good. Then I’ll leave you to unpack and I’ll be in the kitchen if you fancy a cup of tea later. There’s a lot to see in the village and the beach is wonderful and very safe for swimming on a day like today.’

‘I don’t swim,’ said Lettie quickly, batting away an image of dark water and trailing seaweed wrapping around her limbs.

‘Maybe you can have a paddle instead. The cove is definitely worth a visit, and the old castle, and there’s a lovely café in the High Street that does fantastic cream teas.’

‘I’d quite like to visit Dartmoor, too. Iris, my great-aunt, had a photo of Dartmoor hanging on her wall so I think it was special to her.’

‘It’s a very special place.’ Rosie smiled. ‘There are buses that go out that way, and I can find you a timetable while you’re settling in.’

After Rosie had gone downstairs, Lettie unpacked her clothes and the toiletries she’d remembered, and placed her half-read book – a weighty history of London – on the bedside table. Then, she opened the window and stuck her head outside.

Had this view greeted Iris every day when she was growing up: a vast, never-still ocean and a huge, arcing sky? It was certainly different from the view she’d had towards the end of her days. Her great-aunt’s London flat was perfectly fine, but overlooking a gasworks was depressing. How she must have yearned for the countryside and the fresh sea breeze – though never enough to return.

Lettie had offered a few times to bring Iris to Devon, so she could retrace her footsteps and relive her younger days. But her great-aunt had always declined and rarely talked about her life here. The Dartmoor photo on her wall – of a magnificent, gushing waterfall – was the only clue that she’d ever lived in Devon at all. She always changed the subject if Lettie asked her about it. The same, too, if she was ever quizzed about the key around her neck.

Iris’s past was a mystery while she was alive and was even more so now she was gone. And it was emotional to imagine her great-aunt here in this house, young and full of life, when her final days on this earth were so different.

Watching someone she loved die had left its mark on Lettie; now she knew that death wasn’t always a gentle fade into darkness. Iris’s final moments were peaceful but the days leading up to them were filled with pain and fear and a succession of medical professionals in her flat.

Lettie had moved in for a few weeks so Iris could spend her final days at home. And she was glad she had – even though the long hanging on, the slow slide towards the inevitable, had been almost too much for both of them to bear.

When Iris did finally slip away, people told Lettie it was for the best because the old woman’s pain and suffering were over. Her great-aunt had gone, and she must feel relieved. But she hadn’t so far. All she felt was deep sadness and flutterings of panic at the thought of never seeing Iris again. She missed her so much it hurt.

The key around her neck felt warm in her fingers as she raised it to her lips and let it rest there. She felt closer to Iris here, in this storm-battered house on top of the world. Lettie lay back on the soft duvet, the sun streaming through the window onto her face, and closed her eyes.

Lettie woke with a start and blinked furiously. The sun had tracked down her body and was warming her thighs. For a moment, she thought she was at home, but the screeching of seagulls outside, rather than the rumble of the Underground, reminded her where she was. And a glance at her watch revealed she’d been asleep for over an hour.

‘Damn,’ she said out loud, starting to regret her impetuous flight from London. What did she think she was going to achieve by coming to Heaven’s Cove? It certainly wouldn’t bring her great-aunt back, and she should be job-hunting at home.

Sitting up, she swung her legs off the bed and smoothed down her long hair that had a mind of its own. Then she went into the en-suite, with its gleaming new shower, and did her teeth. The minty fizz of the toothpaste made her feel more awake though the face staring back at her from the mirror still looked dozy. She blinked her big hazel eyes, raked her fingers through her unruly red hair and yawned. Sea air certainly wasn’t energising, she decided, wandering back into the bedroom and spotting more missed calls on her phone.

Lettie sighed and switched her mobile from silent. She supposed she’d better let her family know where she was because they’d be wondering what on earth she was doing.

But she winced when the phone suddenly started ringing and Daisy’s name came up on the screen. This was going to be tricky. She took a deep breath and clicked on ‘answer’.

‘There you are, Lettie! What’s going on? You practically do a runner from Mum and Dad’s yesterday, then you send a text at stupid o’clock this morning saying you’re going away on holiday when you’re supposed to be babysitting tonight.’

Lettie closed her eyes and groaned softly. That was the trouble with being spontaneous. It caused all sorts of upset.

‘Well?’ demanded Daisy, before her voice softened. ‘Say something! You’re all right, aren’t you?’

Lettie hesitated. How did one define ‘all right’? She hadn’t felt all right for ages.

‘I’m fine,’ answered Lettie, knowing that was what Daisy wanted to hear. ‘I just needed a break.’

‘Why? You haven’t got kids driving you crazy. And what about work?’

‘I had some time owing,’ lied Lettie, desperate to avoid both the disappointment and unsolicited advice that telling the truth would unleash.

Starcrosses held down solid jobs for years before retiring, like her father, to watch endless repeats of Midsomer Murders and Cash in the Attic. They didn’t hanker after new, unattainable careers, and they certainly weren’t fired for ‘inappropriate behaviour’.

‘So where have you buggered off to, then?’ demanded Daisy. ‘Spain, Italy, Greece?’

‘I’m in Devon.’

‘Devon? Why, when you have no responsibilities and can jump on a plane to anywhere, have you gone to Devon?’ spluttered Daisy, to the sound of children bickering in the background. ‘What the…? Hang on a minute. Elsa, please give the remote control to your brother and stop biting him. Honestly, you two are testing my patience today.’ She waited until everything went quiet before continuing. ‘So why are you in Devon? You didn’t mention anything about it and you should be here. You know it’s my weekly date night with Jason tonight and you always babysit.’

‘Sorry, Daisy. I’m afraid I can’t this time.’

‘What about next week?’

‘Possibly,’ answered Lettie, feeling, as usual, more like Daisy’s au pair than her sister.

‘Possibly? What is going on? You never go on last-minute holidays. Were you spooked by Mum trying to set you up with that sales guy?’

‘I could have done without it, to be honest.’

Nicholas, the son of one of her mum’s work colleagues, had been roped in to have an evening meal with her family and, as blind dates go, he’d seemed fine. Polite, clean-cut and with a good job. Just Lettie’s type, according to her family. He even looked a little like Christopher, her ex.

But all Nicholas talked about was his job selling kitchens, and he hadn’t seemed terribly impressed with her job in customer care for a firm that made a range of different types of adhesive. He’d have been even less impressed if she’d told him the truth, that she’d just been ‘terminated’.

‘Mum’s only trying to help,’ said Daisy. ‘We all are, and he was better looking than I expected, plus he’s got a career, and an Audi. You need to stop being so picky. Nigel, or whatever his name was, could be the man of your dreams.’

‘I doubt it, and I really don’t need you all to sort out my love life.’

‘You really do,’ snorted Daisy.

Lettie sighed. ‘Nicholas seemed very nice, but he was a bit boring.’

‘Boring? What do you expect from life, Lettie? Passionate romance and adventure? Let’s face facts here.’

Oh, dear. Lettie closed her eyes, ready for the sisterly onslaught.

‘You’re twenty-nine years old, you live in a crappy bedsit, you don’t make the best of yourself, and you spend your days listening to people complaining that their glue doesn’t stick. You’re not exactly a romantic dream yourself, you know. The trouble is all those old books you read and the endless history exhibitions you go to. You’ve always got your head in the past, with no time for real life.’

Lettie slowly turned her history of London face-down on the bedside table. ‘That’s not true.’

‘I know not everyone can have an amazing marriage, like me and Jason,’ continued Daisy, now in full flow. ‘But you’re getting on a bit and need to be realistic. So settle down with a solid, decent man and stop worrying Mum and Dad. That’s what normal people do.’

Lettie sincerely hoped that Daisy adopted a more positive tone with her new life coach clients. ‘I don’t mean to worry Mum and Dad.’

‘Not consciously, maybe, but subconsciously you’re trying to attract their attention all the time because you’re the youngest child of three. It’s classic behaviour.’

Daisy seemed to have her all figured out. Lettie drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m very sorry I can’t babysit tonight but Mum might step in if you ask her nicely. I’ll be home…’ She hesitated, suddenly feeling rebellious. ‘…in a week or two.’

‘Two?’ whined Daisy. ‘Mum won’t cover two date nights, and I was thinking you’d do an extra babysit next weekend ’cos it’s Jo’s fortieth birthday party. She’ll be devastated if me and Jase can’t go.’

‘I’m sure you can work something else out.’

‘Huh,’ harrumphed Daisy down the phone. ‘I’ll let Mum know what’s going on but you need to call her yourself to apologise.’

‘What for? I’m allowed to go on holiday.’

‘Apologise for just taking off like that. It’s a bit thoughtless, Letts.’

‘Just because I didn’t get everyone’s permission first doesn’t mean I’m th… oh, whatever.’

Lettie knew this argument was pointless. The Starcrosses were close. Everyone said so. The very embodiment of a close and caring family. But sometimes close and caring could tip over into micro-managing and suffocating.

‘Well.’ Daisy sniffed. ‘Let me know when you’re coming back, and I’ll be in touch.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to nag. Of course you’re allowed to go on holiday, but just don’t stay away too long, OK?’

Once Daisy had rung off, Lettie sat quietly for a moment. Tendrils of guilt had started wrapping themselves around her brain, as they always did when her family implied she was letting them down.

‘I have a life of my own,’ she said, grumpily, into the empty room. Even though it didn’t always feel like it.

That was the trouble with being the third child – a surprise baby who’d arrived seven years after the birth of Daisy and nine years after brother Ed was born. Her siblings’ head start made all the difference.

Daisy had married her second ever boyfriend, Jason, at the age of twenty-three and now had two children and her coaching course to keep her busy. Ed, a school teacher, was married to Fran, had three small children and lived in a new-build house just within the M25 corridor.

They were settled and successful, which made Lettie’s lack of direction and hopeless love life all the more obvious. It also meant that she’d slipped into the role of helper.

Neither Ed nor Daisy had the time – nor the inclination, Lettie suspected – to help out when it came to their parents. They were happy to pile round to Mum’s for a Sunday roast but disappeared sharpish when she started talking about a shopping trip to Lidl or needing someone to accompany her to a hospital appointment.

Lettie always stepped in to help, and Iris was the only member of the family who never seemed to expect anything from her.

‘You’re too obliging for your own good and your family take advantage,’ she’d often chastise Lettie, when they sat together, drinking tea. The older woman would light up a cigarette and puff smoke out of the open window as she advised: ‘You need to strike out and be your own woman. And remember when it comes to men, follow yo. . .