THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

Buster?’
    ‘Is he the man who lives in the big house on the cliff? The one that’s meant to be falling into the sea? No, I can’t remember Uncle Hugh ever mentioning him.’
    ‘Buster Hastings was the captain of the Home Guard.’
    ‘Hugh didn’t talk about the war. He was a bit of a communist, if you want the truth. It was one reason why we didn’t see so much of him. My husband doesn’t stand for that sort of thing.’
    Like Catholicism, thinks Judy. Mr Reynolds’ prejudices are clearly wide ranging.
    ‘Mr Anselm had a fascinating life,’ says Nelson. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t write a book.’
    ‘Oh, he was always writing,’ says Joyce. ‘I’ve got a pile of the stuff somewhere.’ And she disappears, returning with a bulging cardboard box which she puts into Nelson’s arms.
    Nelson looks inside. The box is full of files, exercise books and letters. He opens a book at random.
5 th January 1963
, he reads.
I’m no longer entirely convinced about Kennedy.
The words are small and neat, written in a thin italic hand. He finds a blurred copy of a letter to Nestlé complaining about their business practices in the Third World.
Yours sincerely, Hugh P. Anselm.
    ‘What did the P stand for?’ he asks.
    ‘The what? Oh, in Uncle Hugh’s name? Patrick, I believe.’
    ‘Can I borrow these?’ he asks, indicating the box of papers.
    ‘Keep them,’ says Joyce carelessly. ‘I haven’t got the time for reading.’
    Nor, it seems, has Maria. Archie Whitcliffe’s favourite carer looks rather bewildered as she shows them the list of books left to her in the old man’s will.
    ‘It was very kind of him but’ – she spreads her arms out wide – ‘I’m afraid my English isn’t good enough. And these, they sound difficult. ‘
    Maria doesn’t have the actual books yet (or the money also left to her) but the solicitors have forwarded a list of titles.
    They are sitting in Maria’s cramped Norwich bedsit. The place is scrupulously tidy but extremely bare – just a doublebed, a table and two chairs. She must share the bed with her little boy, thinks Judy. The only evidence of the child is a plastic box of toys and a teddy bear on the bed. Maria’s bedside table is an old black trunk on which are displayed pictures of a smiling elderly couple and a large statue of the Virgin Mary. No television, no radio. How does she entertain the kid? wonders Judy. With the toys neatly stacked away in the box? With the statue of the universal mother? Maria says that Archie gave her money to buy him toys. What did she buy?
    ‘Books,’ is the surprising answer. Maria opens the trunk and brings out pristine editions of Winnie-the-Pooh, Peter Rabbit and Babar the elephant.
    ‘We read them at night,’ says Maria. ‘I want him to have a proper start in life. George is very smart, very good at reading.’
    ‘Did Archie leave you all his books?’ asks Judy. She imagines the old man and the pretty young mother sitting together, talking about Agatha Christie and Babar and the future mapped out for the surprisingly named George. Maybe Archie wanted George to have his library.
    ‘No,’ says Maria, looking worried again. ‘Just a few.’
    ‘Particular favourites?’
    ‘No. I never heard of most of them.’
    ‘Why do you think he left them to you?’ asks Judy.
    ‘I don’t know. I used to buy books for him, from charity shops. Maybe this is to say thank you.’
    Shrugging, she hands Judy the list. Nelson reads over her shoulder.
    The Third Truth by Kurt Aust
    Love Lies Bleeding by Edmund Crispin
    Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie
    The Fourth Assassin by Omar Yussef
    One Step Behind by Henning Mankell
    The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sherlock Holmes
    Sea Change by Robert B. Parker
    Lost Light by Michael Connelly
    ‘And these titles don’t mean anything to you?’ asks Nelson. He only recognises one of the books, the Agatha Christie. He thinks he’s seen it on telly. Oh, and
The Hound of the Baskervilles
. He knew a dog handler once with a German Shepherd called Baskerville.
    ‘No,’ says Maria, her eyes filling. ‘It was kind of him though. He was always very kind.’
    It was kind, thinks Nelson as they descend the gloomy staircase, smelling of cabbage and worse. But more money would have been more useful. Enough to buy a proper bed for the boy and maybe a TV. Well, perhaps they’re first editions and will be worth millions. Maria deserves a break. The exorbitant fees at Greenfields obviously don’t