Chapter 30

Tuesday morning

Day ten

A cool breeze blew in from the sea to where Jon and Trewe sat at breakfast in the Hasten Inn B&B's terraced garden. Jon smoothed his hair down and faced Trewe, whose grizzled head-mat never moved, and not for the first time Jon wondered if it might be a wig or a bad hairpiece.

Beside them the garden glowed in lazy terra cotta colors reminiscent of a far-off Italian garden of distant happy memory. Across the courtyard they had a view of the village and the beach cove partly hidden by a curve of cliff. The village looked brilliant and peaceful, the roads empty of traffic.

The sun warmed the skin, but the air was brilliantly cold and carried the faint scent of briny fish. Jon leaned forward to stir his tea with a wary eye on Trewe's narrow face. Something was amiss. He was angry.

Tiny sparrows flew back and forth, tittering and chattering as they fought over crumbs under the table.