The Fall Girl by Kaye C. Hill Page B

too far from Clopwolde for people to lug beach paraphernalia and kids. Good-o – all the more peace and quiet for her.
    In the shelter of the cliff, Lexy quickly changed into the swimming costume. Bit tight, but no one was there to point and laugh.
    She waded into the waves, enjoying the gradual acclimatisation. The sun had managed to warm the normally icy North Sea to a bearable temperature, and Lexy swam strongly, relishing the
sensation.
    Back on land Kinky was digging in the soft sand at the base of the cliff, directly under a large sign that said No Digging. It was good to see him enjoying himself.
    After a quarter of an hour Lexy emerged from the waves, trying with difficulty to keep her footing on shifting pebbles. Not exactly the Birth of Venus, more like a contestant in a log-rolling
contest.
    She lay down on the towel and closed her eyes. Just for a minute.
    Lexy woke up three hours later on the hard shingle, numb, sunburnt and encrusted with sea-salt.
    Kinky, his whole body stiff with sand, had dug enough holes to destabilise the entire cliff.
    Painfully, they trudged back together.
    Lexy hosed the chihuahua down outside the back door, then stripped off her damp clothes in the kitchen, threw them in the washing machine and headed for the bath.
    At seven-thirty, wearing clean jeans and a t-shirt, her denim jacket tied around her waist, Lexy set off. A brisk half-hour walk should get her to the pub in time. There was no
question of driving; she needed a drink.
    She followed a well-trodden, steep footpath that led straight down through the trees towards Pilgrim’s Farm. It opened out into a meadow halfway down and Lexy couldn’t help but
notice goose-grass growing at the side of the path in a tangled hedgerow. Another tick in the box for her hidden assassin theory. She just wondered what Milo would make of it.
    The Unicorn was a dark and ancient hostelry, full of low beams and hidden alcoves. Two elderly men playing cribbage in a corner looked up briefly and dismissively as she
entered.
    The only other customer was a man who sat at the far end of the bar, pint at hand, whisky chaser waiting ready, head bent towards the busty, attentive barmaid leaning on the counter talking to
him. A man Lexy recognised. The one from the thatched cottage. The chap Elizabeth had painted.
    Lexy took two steps towards him, and he glanced up with those decadent black eyes that Elizabeth had captured so well. Up close, she saw that his face was ravaged by hard living.
    The barmaid gave Lexy an enquiring look.
    She was about to slip on to one of the bar stools and order a drink when she felt a light touch on her shoulder.
    “Jumpy,” said Milo. He had materialised from one of the alcoves.
    “Sunburn.”
    “What would you like?”
    “Pint of cider, please.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “You driving?”
    “No, I walked.”
    “I could have picked you up.”
    “It’s OK. Didn’t take long.”
    Milo turned to the barmaid, and Lexy’s eyes slid back to Elizabeth’s oil painting subject again. He was still looking her over, amused now. Lexy quickly turned away before he leapt
to the wrong conclusion about her interest in him. He seemed like a man who would very swiftly leap to wrong conclusions.
    Milo led the way back to the alcove carrying the drinks. He’d got himself a modest half of cider. Lexy could almost feel the man at the bar smirk before he turned back to the intimate chat
he’d been enjoying with the barmaid.
    Kinky stationed himself on the seat beside her, and she secured his lead around her wrist.
    “So, you managed to find somewhere to stay?” Milo took a sip of his drink.
    “Yeah – little bed and breakfast. Thought it would be for the best.”
    “Think you had the right idea. I saw your husband yesterday in his marquee, and he certainly has a panoramic view of your cabin.”
    Lexy gave an involuntary shiver. “Did you actually see him in action? Doing the genial host act?”
    Milo nodded.
    “Jerk,