“I kept coming back to Agatha.
Although I’m sure, if I’d ever met her, she would have been “Dame Agatha” to me. Either way, I found myself thinking of the great mystery writer as I took this trip. It was so like a plot from one of her books.
“You’ll be met at the station,” was my only instruction.
Suitably cryptic. As foretold, I was greeted by a smiling guide who ushered me onto a luxury charabanc (if that’s not an oxymoron) populated with four perfect strangers. So far, so Christie.
After a brief journey of well-rehearsed small talk, we came to a halt. Stepping from the coach onto an ocean of gleaming gravel, I surveyed what was to be our overnight dwelling: The Beach House. Such a pleasing, quintessentially English façade: the type of place where Miss Marple would have lived, if she’d won the lottery.
It had been a short journey, but it seemed we’d traveled back in time to an age of opulence. It pleased me greatly. The paintwork on the quirky windows and doors was as fresh as the sea air. A well-oiled, front door swung open and our gregarious host swept onto the driveway.
“You’re here, you’re here. So glad you could make it.”
As I took in The Beach House, beautifully finished in the Arts and Crafts style, I had to conclude that so was I.”
Chris McGuire, The Western Morning News
To read my full review of Exmouth’s The Beach House, see here.
Chris McGuire: Writer 