The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

continue their stroll by making their way together down towards the water’s edge.
    ‘For despite the somewhat violent demands it made upon me the other day I still feel a great affinity with the sea,’ he assured her, offering her his arm as they stepped carefully across the hummocky grass to the rocky edge. ‘I was trained as a landscape engineer in the Netherlands – or, as Monsieur Bonaparte now insists it call itself, the Batavian Republic – and became most interested in the draining of the polders there. It is because of my love for the sea that I ended up here, on your beach. I had arrived in England on the northern coast and taken the mail as far as London before I bethought myself to visit an old friend in Southampton on the way home. So I stopped off there for a couple of days and fell in with an old acquaintance of mine in one of the public houses on the quay – the master of a small merchantman - who soon persuaded me that a short sail to Weymouth would be just the way to complete my journey home. Had we not met up again I daresay I should have caught the coach instead. Luckily my main luggage remained with the coach – there was not room for it on the boat – so I am in great expectation of finding it safe at Belvoir as soon as I get myself home. I must admit I shall be pleased to see it. Mr Arthur’s clothing is as fine as it can be, I daresay, but not to be compared in comfort and fit with my favourite tailcoat and boots.’
    Kathryn could appreciate his point and allowed herself to wonder, a little guiltily, what Mr Berkeley might look like in his favourite tailcoat and boots.
    They had reached the rocks by now and were standing quietly together, looking out over the shining grey water . Like her companion, Kathryn had always felt a great affinity with t he sea . It drew her to it like a siren, in all weathers and at all times of the day. She stared at it now. Raucous seabirds screamed noisily overhead. She could taste the salt on her lips and smell the seaweed in the air. Sometimes exciting, sometimes overwhelming, and at other times softly peaceful as it lapped gently to the shore, it was always different, always mesmerising. That afternoon it was quiet and still, the very slight, rhythmic swooshing of wavelets breaking onto the rocky foreshore making her feel relaxed and very, very contented. They stood there together in silence for a while, looking out at the great expanse of shimmering water, almost feeling the peacefulness. And then Kathryn realised, with a jolt, that she still held Mr Berkeley’s arm, and that it felt most natural and comfortable to be doing so. She withdrew it quickly, bending down instead to pick up a seashell to fill the void. It was a most pretty one and as she examined it Mr Berkeley bent his head close to hers to have a look at it too. She felt very aware of him and knew that she absolutely should not. So she handed the shell over to him with a start and wandered a few yards further along the grassy edge to admire the view from a slightly different perspective instead .
    ‘You obviously love the sea as much as I do, Mrs Miller,’ he remarked to her, offering his arm again as a prelude to going back. Kathryn looked out towards the shining buildings of Weymouth, tiny as little models across the bay, in an attempt to convince him that she had not seen it, and walked on independently instead. ‘Have you always lived in Preston?’
    ‘Almost always, Mr Berkeley. I went to school in Dorchester but came home each weekend – Sandsford was my father’s property so I grew up in this very spot. As soon as I left school my father required me to marry a neighbour of ours – the local vicar – I know not why. Perhaps he just wanted some security for me – papa was quite elderly after all and I had an older brother at the time who was set to inherit everything, so there was no other guarantee of my getting anything of my own. Anyway, not knowing any different, I married this