THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

sugar?’
    ‘Just milk.’
    ‘Hope you don’t mind tea bags. My old ma, she lives with us, insists on making the real thing in a pot with strainer and tea cosy and all that malarkey but I can’t be doing with it.’
    ‘I’m all for malarkey myself,’ says Ted, in the Irish accent which he sometimes affects.
    Hastings laughs heartily. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘are you going to tell me what you’ve found on the beach?’
    Ruth feels inclined to tell him to mind his own business but Trace, wanting to assert herself says, ‘We’re part of a team researching the effects of coastal erosion on the North Norfolk coast line.’
    Jack Hastings’ face darkens. ‘Don’t tell me about erosion.’
    We weren’t about to, thinks Ruth, but Hastings is off.
    ‘My house is disappearing day by day. Fifty years’ worth of erosion in three years. I’ve lost nearly a mile of land. Every morning I walk out to see how much of my garden has disappeared in the night. Three coastguards’ cottages have fallen into the sea. The Martello Tower has gone. The lighthouse is in disrepair. We can’t even launch the lifeboat because the ramp just isn’t there any more. And what do the council do about it? Nothing. Bloody socialist government.’
    From this Ruth deduces that Jack Hastings does not stand in the Labour interest.
    ‘Would cost a ton of money to stop the sea,’ says Ted reasonably.
    ‘Yes, but where does it end?’ says Hastings, making an obvious effort to speak in a more measured voice. ‘Soon the Broads themselves will be flooded. Norfolk will disappear.’
    Ruth thinks briefly how pleased Nelson would be to hear this news. Aloud she says, ‘Have you lived here long, Mr Hastings?’
    ‘All my life. My father built the house in the Thirties.’
    ‘Thirties?’ says Trace. ‘It looks older.’
    ‘No. Art Deco gothic, I’m afraid. Gingerbread? My wife made it, it’s very good.’ Ruth accepts a piece though Tracerefuses with a shudder. It would probably double her calorie intake for the day.
    Ruth hopes that the prospect of Norfolk disappearing from the map has taken Hastings’ mind off their urgent phone call, but she underestimates the politician. He turns to Trace with another wide smile.
    ‘So what have you found today? A dead body?’
    ‘Four dead bodies actually,’ snaps Trace.
    There is a silence. Ted leans back in his chair, grinning broadly. Ruth looks daggers at Trace, who ignores her. And, for a second, Jack Hastings’ face looks completely blank, wiped clean of all his urbane charm. Ruth notices how pale his eyes are, almost colourless beneath the sandy brows. Then the smile flashes on again and the warmth and animation flood back.
    ‘Four bodies. How extraordinary! Where did you find them?’
    ‘This is a police investigation now,’ says Ruth. ‘We’re not at liberty to say.’
    She thinks how like a police officer she sounds – at liberty to say! – she has noticed before how Nelson and co always fall back on these stock phrases. They sound wrong in her mouth somehow.
    But Hastings nods understandingly. ‘Of course. If I can be any help, though …’
    ‘You’ve already been a great help,’ says Ruth.
    ‘I’ve lived here all my life, as I say. Not much about the village that I don’t know.’
    There is a silence while they all think about the fact that someone seems to have buried four bodies onHastings’ doorstep without anyone apparently being any the wiser.
    ‘Do you know how long they’ve been there, Ruth?’ asks Hastings.
    Ruth notes the use of her first name and the fact that Hastings is now deferring to her. She also notes that he has asked the most important question.
    ‘We won’t know until we’ve excavated the skeletons and run some tests,’ she says.
    Hastings jumps on this. ‘So it’s just bones then?’
    ‘I can’t say,’ says Ruth. ‘The police will be here soon to fence the area off. We’ll excavate on Monday.’
    ‘Well, feel free to use Sea’s End House as your base,’ says Hastings. ‘Most of the time there’s just me and Stella here now. And Ma, of course. We rattle around somewhat.’
    Why don’t you move then, thinks Ruth. Especially in view of the fact that your house is falling into the sea.
    ‘Children have left home,’ says Hastings, with a rueful smile. ‘Just us oldies and the dogs left.’ He pats one of the spaniels, who looks at him adoringly.
    ‘How many children do you have?’ asks Ted.
    ‘Three. Alastair, Giles and Clara.