‘Some of your carefree attitude must have rubbed off on me,’ she said, still watching him closely.

  ‘It’s the best way to be.’

  ‘Do you ever make plans for the future?’ She was intrigued to discover more about the real Nolan.

  ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘But you did once?’ probed Bea.

  ‘You think your future is one thing and then the next thing you know, it’s something else entirely. The only day I think about is the one I’m in.’

  Nolan didn’t elaborate and Bea was conscious that his gaze was fixed on the path ahead, and he was refusing to look in her direction.

  ‘Maybe you could stay longer too?’ she said hopefully, stabbing another chip.

  ‘Nah, there’s a whole world out there to explore. But in the meantime, Hemingway and Fernsby need to crack the case of “Who is Patsy G?” I do think you did the right thing, deciding to stay. This place will suit you.’

  ‘And why wouldn’t it suit you?’

  ‘It will for a few weeks but then it will be time for me to sail on to the next wonderful place.’

  Any romantic notion Bea might have had that he would stay if she did was quickly starting to fizzle. The second she’d set eyes on him she’d been captivated by his smile and sparkling eyes. The immediate connection had taken her completely by surprise, but judging by the way he spoke about moving on to the next destination he must not feel the same.

  Had she actually made the right decision, or had she been carried away on day one of a working holiday simply because it was a change from the norm?

  Bea forced a brightness into her voice that she wasn’t feeling. ‘Well, until you sail off into the sunset you’re stuck with me.’ She nudged his elbow.

  ‘I think I can put up with that,’ he replied, tossing their empty chip trays in a bin as they passed it. There were numerous people out enjoying the summer evening – kids on bikes and families walking dogs – and Heartcross Mountain stood in the distance, with the fells rising each side. It was a stunning scene to witness.

  They climbed over a stile and the mossy rocks underfoot gave way to a meandering trail passing through purple heather and bracken. The slight breeze feathering through the wild grass carried the sound of crickets and grasshoppers whirring.

  Bea took in the view as they walked over a small wooden bridge and made their way up the crest of the hill towards the church. The weathered wrought iron gates were an impressive entrance to the graveyard, and the gardens within were well maintained, with paths weaving between the graves.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ she asked, spreading her arms wide. ‘It’s a big area to cover.’

  ‘We split up and meet in the middle. I’ll go to the back and you start here. If we walk up and down horizontally, we should cover each grave.’

  ‘And we are looking for a Patsy, preferably with her surname beginning with G.’

  ‘See, you’re showing signs of being a good detective,’ he teased, before following the path towards the back of the churchyard.

  Bea began to walk up and down and immediately noticed that some graves were immaculately looked after whilst others were overgrown, making it difficult to read the names. It took a little under an hour to meet in the middle. Neither of them had spotted a grave with the name Patsy.

  ‘Maybe it’s worth asking the vicar. Surely there will be records?’ suggested Bea.

  ‘Yes, but all we have is a first name, an initial for the surname and no date of birth. He might not be able to find her.’ Nolan’s tone was wreathed with disappointment.

  ‘Why are you sounding so defeatist? Surely this is a good thing?’

  ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘She’s not dead, you wally!’

  Nolan laughed. ‘I hadn’t actually thought of that.’

  ‘Call yourself a detective?’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘But how do we know she even stayed in this area? It could be that she’s buried somewhere else.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a gut feeling she’s here in the Heartcross area. And on average, women live longer than men so there is a good chance she is still alive – and don’t forget we have the address from the logbook.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten to bring that with me.’

  ‘It’s a good job I haven’t then.’ Bea took out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, on which she’d jotted down the address. ‘If we walk that way, past The Old Bakehouse, and turn left onto the main high street, it’s going to take us about forty minutes to get there. Alternatively, we can jump on the river taxi? They run all the way until midnight and I might even be able to get us a discount.’

  ‘Now you’re talking.’

  Within twenty minutes they were walking down towards the jetty and joining the queue for the river taxi. Roman welcomed everyone on board and when he got to Bea and Nolan, he pulled the rope across behind them. ‘Made it by the skin of your teeth. The boat is full. You’re the last two.’

  ‘Roman, can I introduce you to Nolan?’

  ‘You can.’ Roman extended his hand. ‘I’m Roman. Are you—’

  Bea sensed that he was going to say ‘together’ and she quickly interjected, ‘Nolan owns The Hemingway.’

  ‘I was wondering who that wonderful boat belonged to. It’s a beauty!’ Roman shook Nolan’s hand. ‘If you’re ever doing tours, I’d love to have a look.’

  ‘Pop over and take a look anytime.’

  ‘I’ll do just that. I’ve admired it from afar since you arrived. Are you sticking around for the River Festival?’

  Nolan nodded. ‘That’s the plan, leaving the morning after.’

  ‘By my reckoning, it’s going to be very busy this year with the glorious weather – it brings everyone out in their droves. I mean, look at this boat … every time, full to the brim. Most are off to The Lake House restaurant hoping for a spot on the roof terrace. Make sure you don’t leave Heartcross without giving it a visit. People travel from far and wide to eat there.’

  ‘And it’s usually full of celebrities too.’ Bea had been reading up on it. It had been very famous decades ago and was frequented not only by the rich and famous but also by royalty. ‘How long has Flynn owned the restaurant?’ asked Bea, wondering whether he would be a good person to chat to about Patsy.

  ‘Only for the last five years. There’s a couple of seats next to me, do you fancy a ride up front?’

  ‘Yes please!’ accepted Bea, full of enthusiasm.

  ‘This way.’

  They both followed Roman to the front of the boat and Bea asked, ‘Do you know who the most knowledgeable person in the village is?’

  ‘Is that code for the nosiest?’

  ‘Possibly,’ admitted Bea, laughing.

  ‘There’s Hamish, who owns the village shop, which is opposite the pub. His mum Dolores lives above the shop in the flat – she must be near a century old and would certainly know a thing or two.’

  ‘Dolores Henderson, the world-famous singer?’ asked Bea.

  ‘The very one. Or there’s Rona at the teashop; her mum Bonnie owned the shop before her and they’ve been in the village all their lives. Bonnie has passed away now but I’m sure Rona is full of information. There’s also Aggie, Fergus’s mum, he works up at Foxglove Farm with Drew… Oh, but the best person has got to be Martha. What Martha doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing.’

  Why hadn’t Bea thought of that?

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  Bea looked towards Nolan. It wasn’t her story to tell and maybe Nolan didn’t want everyone knowing his business.

  ‘You both look very cloak-and-dagger,’ observed Roman.

  ‘I’m trying to track down my grandfather’s…’ Nolan thought for a second. ‘I’m not even sure what to call her. My grandfather’s girlfriend for the summer, many moons ago.’

  ‘This sounds intriguing,’ said Roman, repositioning his cap on his head. ‘Was it his childhood sweetheart?’

  ‘I think it was someone my grandfather never got over. After he passed, I found a letter addressed to her – it just says “Patsy”, no surname, but possibly begins with the letter G. I’m trying to trace whether she’s still alive. I’m hoping so as I’d really like the letter to be delivered.’

  ‘And wouldn’t that be truly romantic. I would check with Martha, Rona and Aggie. I’m sure if anyone knows anything about anyone, they will be the best ones to ask. And where are you off to now?’

  ‘We’ve discovered an old address for her so we’re headed to Glensheil to see if that leads us anywhere.’

  ‘Do let me know!’ Roman gestured to the seats just behind the wheel. ‘Thankfully the waters aren’t choppy today but the weather is going to change at the end of the week for a couple of days. You’ll find that business will slow right down at The Little Blue Boathouse,’ he said to Bea as she and Nolan took their seats. ‘Shall I drop you over at the lighthouse round the corner? Are you wanting the centre of town?’

  ‘I’ve already Google Mapped it. It’s not far from a market area, looks like quite near the centre,’ confirmed Bea, leaning in towards Nolan. ‘Who’s making the better detective now? Thinking ahead I was.’ She gave him a knowing look, leaving Nolan looking bemused.

  Roman started the engine and Bea and Nolan sat back and watched the view sail past. No wonder Nolan liked living on The Hemingway; everything looked picture perfect from the water. With sweeping bays and sand dunes, gulls hovering over the white cliffs, there was something therapeutic about watching the waves as the boat glided through the water.

  ‘This part sometimes gets a little choppy,’ confided Roman, just as Bea was jolted to the right, her hand landing directly on Nolan’s thigh.

  ‘Are you okay? You’ve gone a little pale,’ he observed.

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ she replied, not daring to admit she suddenly felt queasy. As her stomach churned some more, she tried to concentrate on the breeze whipping through her hair.

  ‘Take deep breaths and focus on the horizon line,’ whispered Nolan. ‘It always helps.’

  Bea stared at the sterling blue river lapping against the rocky shoreline of colourful stones.

  ‘Here we go, the first stop, the lighthouse.’ Roman pulled on a lever that slowed the boat and guided it towards the wooden jetty, where it bobbed in the water until he turned off the engine. He jumped onto the dock and tied up the boat securely before pulling the gangplank forward. ‘Good luck with your quest,’ he said as Bea and Nolan stepped off the boat.

  ‘We’ll let you know how it goes!’ replied Bea.

  As soon as she was back on solid ground, Bea began to feel better. She snagged a glance at Nolan, who grinned straight at her.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘Because I’ve never seen anyone turn green so quickly before. Thank God you’re selling boat trips because I don’t think you would last long sailing the boats.’

  ‘Okay, busted. I honestly thought there was a possibility that I would see chips and curry sauce for the second time in less than an hour.’

  ‘Ew! Too much information.’

  The short walk into the town of Glensheil was busy and they had to weave their way through pedestrians as they headed towards the high street. Bea checked Google Maps and pointed straight in front of them. ‘This way.’

  The side streets were full of fancy bistros and cocktail bars and the shops were still open, which Bea assumed was because it was a tourist town and they opened all hours. The tree-lined pavements looked picturesque in the evening sunshine and the hanging baskets burst with colour where they swayed from the lampposts in the light breeze.

  ‘We’re looking for Clyde Square, which, according to this…’ Bea looked up at the street sign then back towards her phone ‘... is past Claret Row, which is this way.’

  They navigated the streets and turned down an alley, stepping over beer cans and crumpled litter strewn all over the ground. They walked past graffitied brick walls, grimy barred windows and doorways, and heard the clink of bottles slamming in bins. Bea was very grateful Nolan was by her side.

  ‘This doesn’t have a good vibe to me.’ As she looked at the windows above, she realised they were being watched. ‘I feel like I’m trespassing.’

  ‘I have to say, I quite agree.’ Nolan’s voice was low and they stopped walking as a voice shouted down to them.

  ‘Oi, you two. Want do you want?’ The voice was far from friendly.

  Bea could feel herself slightly trembling and was relieved when Nolan slipped his hand into hers.

  ‘We’re looking for Clyde Square.’ Thankfully, Nolan’s voice was steady.

  ‘Next street along,’ the voice shouted back.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Nolan, taking the lead and guiding Bea through the alley, keeping her closely by his side.

  They could feel eyes watching them everywhere. Curtains twitched and people began to open their doors and stand on their steps with their arms crossed. Bea felt like she was in the middle of a scary movie.

  ‘This doesn’t look as bad,’ reassured Nolan as they turned the next corner, but Bea continued to grip his hand tightly. ‘What number are we looking for?’

  ‘Flat 4A,’ replied Bea, double-checking the crumpled bit of paper. ‘It must be that one up there. What’s the plan? Are we going to knock? I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do. I kind of get the feeling the only people who knock on these doors are bailiffs.’

  ‘I think that may be a little overdramatic.’ He gave her a comforting smile but they both jerked when they heard a dog thud against an iron gate and burst into aggressive barks.

  ‘I’m really not liking this.’

  The wooden screech of an old window being forced open above made them both look upwards. An old woman leaned out of the window and flicked ash from her cigarette.

  ‘Are you lost? Not seen you around these parts before.’

  Feeling brave, Bea shouted up, ‘We’re looking for flat 4A.’

  ‘Wait there.’

  They heard the sound of a heavy metal lock being unbolted and then the door opened and the old woman was standing in front of them.

  ‘What do you want? Are you police? Because if you are—’

  ‘No, we aren’t police or anyone bad.’ Bea noticed the woman was gaunt, with a few teeth missing, and those that weren’t were rotten.

  She dragged on her fag. ‘Then what do you want?’ She narrowed her eyes, watching them closely.

  ‘It’s a long shot but we’re looking for a woman who lived in flat 4A over sixty years ago, Patsy G?’

  ‘Never heard of her. And you expected her to be here after all this time? It’s bad enough living here for six months, never mind sixty years.’ The woman cackled. ‘Whoever Patsy G is, she had a lucky escape … unless she was pimped out or possibly shot. And now I suggest you with your posh class get out of here as soon as possible.’

  Bea didn’t need to be told twice. She tugged at Nolan’s hand. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said walking away as fast as she could.

  Five streets away, life was a different story. People were suited and booted, standing outside a wine bar drinking champagne. Posh cars lined the streets and the smell of expensive perfume had replaced the rancid odour of urine.

  Bea blew out a long, shuddering breath. ‘I’m not judging the people that live in that part of town, and I’m aware sometimes circumstances put you in situations that make your life spiral out of control, but I’ve not felt that scared for quite some time.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean, but seeing the place where Patsy once lived has made me think of a reason why she and my grandfather couldn’t be together. Let’s head back down to the river and I can tell you my theory.’

  ‘So why do you think they couldn’t be together?’ Bea asked as they walked, liking the fact that Nolan was still holding her hand as they walked along the street.

  ‘Back then there were different social rules and different classes couldn’t mix. In an ideal world, we wouldn’t have ever had any class distinctions and everyone would have the same access to education and jobs, but that’s never been the case.’ Nolan stopped in the middle of the payment and gestured to the wine bar behind them. ‘Do you think people in Clyde Square mix in the same social circles as the suited and booted?’

  Bea looked at the long line of posh cars parked up the street and the people frequenting the tables outside the wine bar, all of whom were wearing designer clothes and drinking what looked like champagne. ‘No, I don’t suppose they do.’

  ‘Exactly. People unconsciously seek a similar dynamic to what they’re used to. It’s natural to want a partner that fits in with your social circle or family because otherwise there may be a clash over lifestyles. There’s also always the fear of being judged or even rejected.’

  ‘Interesting. Why do you think they were of different classes?’ asked Bea, intrigued by the theory.

  ‘Because I can’t see Clyde Square ever having been an affluent area, can you?’

  Bea shook her head. ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘And my grandfather didn’t have to worry about money. Even though you may look at The Hemingway and think it’s not worth much, that was my grandfather’s decoy.’

  ‘What do you mean by decoy?’ asked Bea.

  ‘My grandfather owned all kinds of planes, trains and automobiles. I’m not exaggerating. He was a multi-millionaire.’

  ‘Woah! I wasn’t expecting that. Do you think Patsy knew?’

  ‘From what I know, that wasn’t information he bandied about. He kept his cards very close to his chest because he felt he had to be wary of anyone suddenly wanting to become his friend. If they knew about his money, he thought they’d want him for what they might get, not for who he was.’

  ‘It must be awful living like that, even if you have the benefits that come with having money.’

  ‘That’s why he chose to travel the waterways in The Hemingway. He discovered that people accepted him for himself if it appeared he didn’t have anything. He was never a show-off. He made his fortune by accident but still worked hard all his life. He didn’t take anything for granted and donated a lot of money to charity.’