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Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Seaside Rendezvous

The pier had been a late addition to Dorsal Finn, a gift from the Pontefract family back in the 1960’s—a time when piers and ancient bands like The Beatles and The Who were popular. It was a thing of strange beauty. It’s black, wrought iron struts rising from the sea and climbing into impressive archways crowned with huge wooden slats, which supported a pavilion and a few small gift shops.

Beatrice walked towards the pier, her eyes watching it grow as she drew closer, and as the elongated structure began to consume her horizon, so did the anxiety of meeting up with Marcus Macbeth. She’d tried to suppress it for most of the day, but now it was loose and hungry and baying for attention. Her heart thumped in her chest, her breathing felt shallow and useless, and when she saw his tall, regal figure—still clad in his smart Blue Thunder suit—standing at the railings, she faltered.

‘Giddy goodness, get a grip of yourself,’ she cursed under her breath, her
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