Just before the road curved and rhododendrons blocked the village from sight, Tony turned for one last look at Lulworth Cove. The stiff breeze blowing in off the Channel whipped his hair, tugged at his clothes. Even the wind was pushing him away.
Once again, he’d stepped in during a difficult time, willing to help, only to discover his help was wanted on just a temporary basis. Once again, he was extraneous. Not needed.
The sole sign of his having passed through this place would apparently be his workmanship on Doyle’s cottage, and the roof of Sylvia’s house. He’d made no impression on the villagers themselves, heading off as they were on an insane course, intent on their plan to steal Ruford’s ship. He thought he’d made a connection, personal ties with the people — Jimmy, Baxter, Marge
