Secrets of the Tides Read Online Free Page A

from it. Much of the whitewashed exterior was adorned with trailing ivy which wrapped its way across the front of the house and all around the wide sash windows, and in the very centre stood a carved stone arch which framed an ancient oak front door, worn smooth over the years. The house was lit up from within, a warm orange light radiating from every visible window while at either end of the slate roof a chimney sent promising plumes of dove-grey smoke curling up into the darkening sky. Down the hillside Helen could just make out a long, sprawling lawn leading off to a gated fruit orchard, beyond which lay the white-capped wash of the sea. She knew, without even stepping one foot inside the house, that the views would be spectacular. The house alone was heart-stoppingly lovely, a picture-book farmhouse the likes of which Helen had only read about in children’s stories, but it was made all the more dramatic by its isolated position on the windswept bluff overlooking Lyme Bay. To Helen it screamed of romantic, windswept trysts and secret smugglers’ encounters.
    ‘You could have told me you were lord of the bloody manor!’ she cried, cringing inwardly at the thought of her parents’ cramped suburban semi.
    ‘It’s not that big,’ Richard laughed. ‘It’s deceptive from this angle.’
    ‘Huh!’ she snorted.
    He reached across and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze but as they approached the house seemed to sprawl further and further across the promontory, rising up proudly against the skyline.
    ‘I can see how it got its name,’ she managed finally in a small voice, suddenly terrified at the prospect of meeting his parents and of spending two days in such daunting surroundings.
    Thankfully, the reception inside the house had proved warmer than down on the beach. Daphne and Alfred Tide were delighted to see their son, and the initial introductions with Helen had seemed to go well. Helen thought Richard’s father was charming. Alfred was an older version of his son; tall, broad-shouldered with silver hair, an easy smile and the same clear blue eyes as Richard. He pumped Helen’s hand up and down enthusiastically as she walked through the oak front door and gave Richard a cheeky, approving wink when he thought she wasn’t looking. Helen then turned to Daphne, Richard’s mother, and knew with just one look that the attractive, grey-haired lady standing before her would prove more difficult to impress. She had a strong, serious face, steely grey eyes and the sort of posture that suggested years of Swiss finishing school. She wore a smart blue woollen dress and a string of pearls around her neck and Helen, standing next to her in the best dress she owned, felt cheap and shabby by comparison. Daphne’s welcome had been warm enough but Helen could feel the woman’s cool, appraising gaze sweep over her as she turned to answer more of Alfred’s exuberant questions; it was the predatory gaze of a mother scrutinising her son’s partner for signs of weakness or future heartbreak.
    They’d taken afternoon tea in the drawing room in front of a roaring log fire that crackled and spat in the large stone hearth. ‘A little indulgent, perhaps,’ Alfred had half apologised as they’d settled themselves on the faded chintz sofas, ‘but it’s such a chilly day out there I thought a nice fire would be just the ticket.’
    Helen had smiled and held her hands out to the flames, grateful for the warmth emanating from the grate as the four adults settled into the required social niceties. They covered Richard and Helen’s drive down to Dorset, Daphne’s new appliquéd cushion covers and the wild weather outside before Richard cleared his throat and told them he had a little announcement. Helen tensed and tried to ignore the worried glance Daphne threw Alfred.
    He’d started with the good news. ‘Helen and I have decided to get married.’
    ‘Well,’ exclaimed Daphne, ‘my goodness. What a surprise!’ Then after a