Chapter 1

His last thought was going to be about flowers, about what, for him, was the oxymoron of the beautiful Flowers. He would run into oblivion with the ecstasy of believing that The Flowers would die without him.

An overwhelming gust of wind caught him, almost pushed him over the edge of the cliff top before he was ready. In steadying and preparing himself he looked down at the raging, boiling sea, for a second stunned by both its magnificence and its monstrosity. On the cliff on the opposite side of the inlet, waves smashed a hundred feet high into the rock, ricocheting back in white fumes taller than the cliff itself.

No birds today. No screaming gulls overhead. The strengthening wind had sent even these hardy combatants to shelter until this war of the elements was over and normal conditions resumed. Ink-black clouds rolled across the sky like a speeded-up film, dumping a torrent of rain to join the wind.

It was time to set his plan in motion. He had seen the one person he wanted to see. She had hardly changed. Still ethereal, unworldly, innocent, in his eyes. She hadn’t seen him, to his relief. He couldn’t have come up here if she had. Mary, who had loved him for who he was, back then, in another life. She would have persuaded him to stop, to stay with her, that they would be fine together. He knew that could never be the case.

He turned, walked back thirty paces through the rough grass, each one carefully counted out, one for each year since she had been lost to him. He turned again, steadying himself against the wind, barely able to see now through the onslaught of rain drops hitting him like missiles from the sky.

He listened, took a quick glance across at where the path came out of the trees, saw what he needed to see and smiled. It was time. He held out his arms and, with a deep breath, began to run, looking only ahead, and up.

He was half way to the edge when the object hit him, something huge and solid, knocking him to the ground and rolling over with him. It had winded him, he couldn’t catch his breath. Perhaps he was going to die from asphyxiation, as it crushed him, pinning him down.

The assault was so intense he hadn’t been able to focus, as the world spun around in circles with the object. As it settled, pinning his arms and legs, its huge weight on top of him, he was at last able to look and understand what had happened to him. He was halfway to the edge, but not close enough. His first glance took in something mainly black, with a white band around its neck – yes, it was a neck – he could see skin. He raised his eyes further up, as far as the arms pinning him would allow, into a face, smiling with kindness and sympathy.

‘Hello. I know who you are, but whatever, I really couldn’t let you throw yourself away.’

The man opened his mouth. ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Actually, it is. For two reasons. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Harry Teague, the vicar in these parts. I saw you at the back of my church. I really can’t allow people who come to hear me speak, to throw themselves over a cliff. My sermons aren’t that bad.’

The comment drew no sympathetic response.

‘The second reason?’

‘I saw you staring, but not at me. You never took your eyes off her.’

The man’s head went down. ‘Did she see me?’ he mumbled.

‘No, and I didn’t tell her I intended to follow you. I saw your desperation. It’s something us vicars are trained to look for, and if I say so myself, I’m rather good at spotting it. Do you feel ready to get up now? Has the moment passed?’

The man nodded and Harry sat up. ‘Sure?’

‘Quite sure, thank you Vicar.’

‘Are you willing to walk with me back down to town?’ He glanced up as the wind blew his hair vertical. ‘We need to go now. The forecast says the wind speed will increase by another twenty miles an hour and I’d prefer to get away from the edge of this cliff before we both go over without trying.’

The man pulled himself to his feet. He was of slight build, with wispy fair hair and intense blue eyes. Harry took the man by one of his skinny upper arms, dragged him back to the path and hauled them both towards the shelter of the wood that led down past the castle to the beach and the town. The rain and wind followed close behind them, urging them forward. Although it was less vicious in the wood, the trees swayed alarmingly and beneath their feet the path was turning into a stream. Harry, although he had walked this path in all winds and weathers, had never seen anything like this.

It took careful manoeuvring to grope around the curve of the path onto its steepest part of the downhill incline which, although short, looked lethal, with water running over already slippery stones and rocks. Harry paused. ‘There’s nothing to hold onto here,’ he shouted above the roar of the wind. ‘We’ll have to pick our way down and hope for the best.’

With much relief they reached the end of the pathway, next to the houses that bordered the beach. A giant crash in the background halted them. Looking around, a huge branch from an overhanging tree had been torn away and now blocked the path, where seconds before they had been scrambling down.

‘That could have been us underneath there,’ the man muttered, wincing.

‘Don’t think about it,’ Harry said. Five minutes earlier the man had tried to kill himself. Had he really been serious, if the thought of being crushed by a tree branch bothered him? ‘We must get to the church and safety, provided the roof’s still on.’

They crossed the pathway at the top of Cash Cove, usually calm and tranquil, but today throwing up angry waves that almost reached the causeway. They broke into a run and headed along the road bordering the inlet, pushed and pulled by the wind.

It was with huge relief that the two men reached the town square and ran into the church, soaked and dripping but otherwise unharmed. They crashed through the main entrance and hall into the echoing body of the church and stopped.

Harry smiled at the woman sitting, waiting.

‘By the way, I forgot to mention, in St Foy she’s not Mary. Here, she’s known as Rose.’