She’d put it off far too long and she couldn’t wait any longer. She’d spent so long sitting on the stone bench staring out to sea that she’d almost become part of the landscape. In a moment, she thought, a seagull might land on her. The bench, nearly buried beneath the tough gorse bushes that ran riot over the cliff edge, was a haven she’d recently discovered. While it was half hidden from sight, it gave her a magnificent view over the beach. Below her, she could see the sand, washed clean by the outgoing tide. Accessible only by a precarious path from the cliff edge, and a mile from the nearest parking lot, the beach was never very busy, according to Fiona. On a cool, cloudy day in early June it was virtually deserted. A handful of walkers, poring over maps or munching sandwiches, had already ambled past Lucy, trying to find the path down to the shore, and hadn’t seemed to have noticed her. Now, all she had for company were the gulls wheeling overhead, crying harshly on the wind.
