THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

keeps a weather eye out for Cathbad. She’s fond of Cathbad and she appreciates the interest he takes in Kate, but recently he has made one too many references to Nelson being Kate’s spiritual father. She knows Cathbad suspects something but he’ll never know the truth unless she tells him and, if she’s honest, sometimes the urge to tell someone is very strong. When she was first pregnant, she quite liked the idea of hugging a secret to herself, like the baby growing inside her. But now, sometimes she wonders how she ever thought she’d have the strength to get through Kate’s whole babyhood, her whole
life
, without ever telling anyone who her father is.
    Of course, one day she’ll have to tell Kate herself, but by then who knows what will have happened? Nelson’s daughters will have left home, it’ll no longer be so important toprotect them, perhaps Nelson himself will have left Michelle … But she stamps firmly on that thought, seeing Nelson at the naming day party helping his wife on with her coat, Michelle laughing against him. Nelson has never in his life looked at her like that. She just has to face it; he loves Michelle, he doesn’t love her. And, she tells herself, she wouldn’t want to live with Nelson anyway. He’s too sexist, too Neanderthal, way too bossy. Good in bed though, she’s shocked to find herself adding.
    She hurries across the courtyard to the Natural Sciences Department. It’s a bitterly cold day, icy winds and the occasional eddy of snow. She’s amazed that, even in these conditions, a couple has still found time to linger under the covered walkway that leads to the main building, kissing and wrapping their arms around each other. As she gets nearer, she recognises Dieter Eckhart in his green Germanic coat and Clara Hastings, slim and girlish in jeans, with her hair in a ponytail. They are so engrossed that they don’t notice Ruth and she hardly wants to engage them in conversation. When she is safely inside, she looks back from a first floor window. They are still standing there, with the snow whirling around them, locked in a passionate embrace. But, as Ruth watches, Dieter Eckhart raises his head and looks straight at her. His eyes are as pale and cold as the snow.
    The wind is even wilder at Broughton Sea’s End. As Nelson and Judy cross the bridge, they have to bend double to avoid being blown over. The snow has turned into stinging sleet, causing Judy to pull her woolly cap down over her eyes (Nelson never wears a hat). Below them the sea thundersagainst the rocks. How can Sea’s End House withstand many more poundings like this, thinks Judy. The furthest turret seems almost at the edge of the cliff, the Union Jack whipping furiously to and fro. I wouldn’t like to sleep in this house, she decides. The wind and waves are so loud that she wonders whether anyone will hear their knock on the door, although Nelson leaves the brass lion’s head positively vibrating.
    But, after a few minutes, the door is opened and a dark-haired woman is smiling at them.
    ‘DCI Nelson.’ Nelson doesn’t smile back. ‘I rang to say I was on my way.’
    ‘Oh yes, hallo,’ says the woman. ‘I’m Stella, Jack’s wife.’
    She is charming, thinks Judy. Or maybe she’d be predisposed in anyone’s favour after they’d ushered her in from the freezing cliff top and installed her in a kitchen with an open fire and twinkling pots and pans. There’s even a sweet old lady knitting by the fire to complete the picture.
    ‘My mother-in-law, Irene,’ says Stella. ‘Mother,’ she raises her voice slightly. ‘It’s the policeman come back to talk to us.’
    Judy suppresses a smile at the thought of Nelson being reduced to ‘the policeman’, like a character in an Agatha Christie play. Irene smiles sweetly at Judy.
    ‘You’re not the same girl that came before.’
    ‘No,’ says Nelson, rather quickly. ‘That was Dr Galloway, the forensic archaeologist. This is Detective Sergeant Johnson.’
    Judy says hallo and accepts an offer of tea. So the boss came here with Ruth, did he?
    ‘Shall we stay in the kitchen?’ Stella Hastings is saying. ‘It’s much warmer than the drawing room. Jack won’t be long. He’s taken the dogs out.’
    Drawing room
, thinks Judy. She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard anyone calling it that in real life. She shoots a glance at Nelson who raises his eyebrows.
    Stella puts the kettle on and Irene starts arranging cups and saucers. The fire