The Little Kiosk By The Sea

CHAPTER FOUR

RACHEL

Rachel stood back and looked at the cake critically. Cake decorating had never been high on her list of ‘learn how to do’ skills. In the past it had been so easy to nip down to the local patisserie and buy their most highly decorated concoction whenever she’d been asked to provide a cake. Somehow, even if that option was still available, she doubted that approach would go down well with the organisers of this particular fund-raising event who’d asked her to donate a cake. Every one of them was sure to be a closet Mary Berry.

So this chocolate-covered three-tiered sponge had to be as good as she could make it. No doubt it’s homemade appearance would lose her brownie points and its butter-cream icing would be found wanting, but so be it.

Rachel smiled wryly to herself as she carefully placed the cake in the largest box she could find, ready to deliver it later that morning. Who’d have thought, six months ago, she’d be baking a cake and participating in a spot of charity work? Not her, for sure. When she’d arrived, still stunned by the changes in her life, she’d simply wanted to shut herself away. Which she did. The only person she’d spoken to on a regular basis was Hugo, who phoned her daily, telling her she should never have left France and begging her to return to the villa. The one thing Rachel was determined not to do. At least not permanently, maybe a holiday in due course to see everyone would be wonderful. But first she had to sort her life out.

Avoiding face-to-face contact with people, for weeks she ordered her food over the Internet for home delivery on a Friday with the instructions to leave the box in the porch. It had taken two months for her to discover she wasn’t cut out to be a hermit and to start craving some sort of social life. When she told Hugo she was starting to go out, his sigh of relief was audible down the phone. Within weeks she’d joined the library, been roped in to help at the town’s charity shop, found a favourite place for coffee and been cajoled into joining a book club which was where, after several glasses of wine following a particularly boring discussion, Susannah and Caroline had extracted a promise from her to bake a cake for their next coffee morning. And so far nobody had questioned her too closely about her past.

Her, ‘I’ve lived abroad for years’ reply when asked about where she’d previously lived, quickly followed by, ‘My husband died recently’ earned her sympathetic looks and stopped people probing too deep. Although there had been a moment just last week at the book club when Caroline had pursed her lips and said: ‘Where are you from originally? I’ve been trying to place your accent but can’t quite make it out.’ To Rachel’s relief, before she could answer, somebody called out for more wine and Caroline had moved away.

Glancing out of the kitchen window, she saw a sailing boat beating its way up river and for a moment she longed to be out there on board. Sailing was definitely on her agenda for this summer. She’d ask Susannah at the coffee morning later if she knew anybody who wanted the occasional crew. Maybe she’d brave the sailing club too and ask there.

Moving into the sitting room, with its large patio doors opening onto the terrace, it struck her how at home she was beginning to feel in the house. Something she hadn’t expected to feel in such a short time. But here were no memories lurking in every room to pull her up, to remind her how different her life had been just a few short months ago. Coming back was looking increasingly like it had been the right decision. She was living life on her own terms. For the first time in months she realised she was … not happy exactly, more like content.

The coffee morning was already in full swing in the charity shop when Rachel arrived. She pushed her way carefully through the crowd to the small cafe area and put her cake on the table. As she’d feared, placed next to a plate of expertly decorated cupcakes and a professional-looking carrot cake with a frosted topping, her chocolate cake did indeed look amateurish.

‘Hi, thanks for this’ Susannah said, immediately cutting it into slices. ‘People always go for chocolate – especially the ones that look so obviously homemade. Are you okay to stay and help for a while? Could do with a hand feeding the hordes.’

‘Sure,’ Rachel said. Half an hour later, as things started to quieten down, she was pleased to see only a single slice of chocolate cake left. Couldn’t have been that bad then. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she stood back and looked around.

She already recognised one or two faces. The lady from the library, the girl from the post office, even the traffic warden had popped in for a quick coffee. Two elderly ladies were talking quietly together as they browsed the book section. Parts of their conversation drifted over to Rachel.

‘Sad she had to die in the nursing home. Can’t help wondering what’s going on with her estate now though.’

‘Didn’t have any relatives, did she?’

‘A twin brother. Not that he visited much, even when she was ill. They fell out years ago. Think he died recently too.’

‘Maybe she left all her money to charity.’

‘Wouldn’t be surprised. She always was a close one. Wouldn’t mind her house. If it comes on the market, might go and take a look. Got wonderful views. Bet it’ll be expensive though, nothing ever comes cheap in Swannaton. Oh look what I’ve found, an Erica James. Have to buy it. Love her books.’ And the two women moved away.

Rachel’s hand shook as she replaced her coffee cup on the table. Was the woman they were talking about the one person she’d dreaded bumping into ever since she’d arrived here? Guiltily Rachel hoped it was. It would mean there was no chance of them meeting unexpectedly. It couldn’t just be coincidence. How many women living in Swannaton had a recently deceased twin brother?

The final link in town to her past would have been severed. With no-one left to drag them out of her cupboard and dangle them in front of her, her skeletons could finally be laid to rest.

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLIE

The day Ellie Lewis was made redundant from her job as features editor with a famous women’s magazine, turned out to be the day her relationship with Rod Vicars also fell apart. Ellie berated herself for weeks for not seeing either event coming.

She’d known, of course, about the redundancies sweeping through the industry, but had stupidly assumed her job was safe. Even consoled her friend Sally with the words, ‘Think of it as a new opportunity’ when she’d received the dreaded summons. Now she had her own unwanted new opportunity to deal with.

Andy, the editor, had been apologetic as he’d given her the news, saying he’d tried to save her job but ‘upstairs’ had refused. ‘Given you a generous package though,’ he’d added. As if that made all the difference. She needed to work.

Clearing her desk and packing up her personal stuff in the box thoughtfully provided alongside her redundancy notice took five minutes in the strangely quiet office with everybody conspicuously studying their screens rather than look at her.

‘I’m not bloody contagious,’ she muttered. But maybe redundancy was?

Estelle, the fashion editor, late to work as usual, took in the scene instantly when she arrived.

‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,’ she said, enveloping Ellie in a hug. ‘What a shock. You all right?’ She held Ellie at arms’-length and studied her critically. ‘Take a few days holiday, get Rod to spoil you. You’ll bounce back. Give me a ring next week – we’ll have lunch.’

‘Thanks, Estelle. Would you like this?’ Ellie held out the orchid plant that had sat on her desk all year without a single flower. ‘You might have more luck with it than me.’

She picked up the box and her laptop and called out, ‘Bye, everyone. Good luck!’ before walking out of the office without a backward glance.

Ellie decided to walk home via the park rather than take the bus. The box wasn’t heavy and her laptop bag was comfy across her shoulder. After all, there was nothing to rush for and the sun was shining. The takeaway chalet near the lake was open and she treated herself to a Danish pastry and a coffee. Necessary comfort food.

Sitting on a wooden bench and watching mums and their children feed the ducks, Ellie started to think things through. Ever practical, she counted the plusses currently in her life. One, she had a roof over her head. Two, she was in a loving relationship. Although that had been a bit strained recently with them both being so busy. A short time off work would give her the opportunity to spoil Rod. She’d start by cooking his favourite meal tonight – coq au vin. Maybe he’d open one of his special red wines that he kept in a box under his bed. They could at least drink to the future. Once she’d dumped her stuff off at home, she’d do a supermarket shop and stock the cupboards. Three, the redundancy cheque was enough to live on for at least three months – even taking into account her share of the high rent for their serviced flat.

Right, that was the pros taken care of. Now for the cons. One, she was unemployed. Two, there weren’t a lot of jobs around at the moment. Three, she couldn’t actually think of a third. The first two were bad enough. What if she didn’t get a job for months and months? Would Rod even consider moving to a non-serviced flat where he actually had to do something like take the rubbish to the bin rather than just put the black bag outside the door for the caretaker to pick up? Unlikely.

He’d lived in the modern, minimalistic flat for two years now. Ellie had moved in with him just six months ago at his suggestion. At first she’d tried to add some of her own touches – a scarlet throw over the settee to bring some colour into the black and white decor, a picture or two but Rod hated them. The only things he tolerated were her candles and two scarlet cushions – and then only when she protested it was her home too.

Even with her contributing to the rent, he moaned every month about the extortionate charges. Somehow she couldn’t see him agreeing to give up the apartment and rent a cheaper one because she’d lost her job and couldn’t afford to contribute. As far as he was concerned, his address was a status symbol. On the other hand, he might wave his hand airily, tell her not to worry, he’d look after her – and pick the rent up. Ellie sighed. Rod never had been one with the expansive gestures.

Ellie finished the pastry and threw the remains of the cold coffee on the grass. She’d have the rest of the week off and then next week she’d refresh her CV and start job-hunting in earnest. Maybe register with an agency for some temp work. See if there were any freelancing opportunities around.

Rod was in the sitting room, tapping hard on his laptop when she got home.

‘I didn’t realise you were working from home today,’ she said.

‘Have to see a client round the corner in …’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Hell, in five minutes. Got to go.’

He snapped his laptop shut, glanced at his phone and was halfway out of the door before asking, ‘What are you doing home anyway?’

Ellie shrugged. Now was not the right moment to break the bad redundancy news. ‘Tell you later. Hope they sign on the dotted line.’

‘Thanks. See you about six then.’

But it was gone seven when Rod arrived home that evening. Ellie had set the table, lit a couple of candles and generally tried to make the apartment as cosy as she could for an intimate dinner before she told Rod about losing her job. The coq au vin, though, was in danger of becoming dehydrated despite the extra half bottle of merlot she’d poured over it.

Ellie took one look at Rod’s face as he saw the table and the candles and knew there was something wrong.

‘This is a bit OTT for a Monday evening, isn’t it? We celebrating something?’ he asked.

‘No. I just had time today so I thought I’d spoil us both with a nice dinner. It’s been ages since we had an evening like this,’ Ellie said, handing him a glass of wine. As they chinked glasses, she said, ‘Not since the first month of me moving into the flat really. We’ve both been too busy.’

‘And today you’re not?’

‘No. I’m redundant,’ Ellie said, wishing she’d waited a bit longer before announcing it so bluntly, but the words had come out of her mouth of their own accord.

‘Ah. Well I’ve got some job news too.’

‘Oh god – you’re not redundant too?’ If he was, the flat would definitely have to go. No way could they afford to keep it on. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I’ve been promoted to Branch Manager.’

‘Oh that’s brilliant,’ Ellie said, raising her glass in a toast. Judging by the long hours Rod had been putting in recently, she’d guessed the housing market was picking up. The prestigious estate agency he worked for must have realised how good he was at selling houses. At least he’d be earning more money while she found another job. ‘Which branch?’

‘Manchester.’

‘Where?’

‘Manchester.’

Ellie waved her hand in disbelief. ‘I heard you the first time.’ She picked up the merlot bottle and topped up her glass. ‘When did this all kick off?’

‘Couple of weeks ago. Nothing definite until this week.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘No point until I knew for definite.’

‘When do you start?’

‘First of the month.’

‘That’s less than a fortnight away.’

Rod nodded. ‘Yep. Lot of things to sort before then.’

‘But I don’t want to live in Manchester.’ Ellie took a drink of her wine as the silence between them lengthened.

‘You’re not coming,’ Rod said flatly. ‘You just have to move out of here.’

‘What?’

‘You couldn’t afford the rent without me even if you were working. Now you’re redundant,’ Rod shrugged.

‘But what about us? Are we breaking up because you’re moving to Manchester? Or were you taking the opportunity to break up with me?’

Rod’s silence and the look on his face confirmed Ellie had hit on the truth with her last question.

‘Why didn’t you tell me straight? I thought you loved me? We could have talked – still can.’

This time Rod did answer her. ‘No point. I’ve met someone else who is coming to Manchester with me.’

CHAPTER SIX

BB

Being a sociable kind of man, when Braxton Brael saw the woman from the kiosk and the captain of the Queen of the River in the hotel bar when he walked in, he didn’t hesitate to stroll over and say ‘Hi. Can I buy you guys a drink?’

Sabine shook her head and smiled at him. ‘Not for me, thanks. Got things to do when I get home. Too many glasses of wine and I’ll be asleep.’

‘Half a lager for me would be very nice of you,’ Owen said.

Braxton turned to the barman and ordered two lagers. ‘There you go, Skipper. Have to tell you how much I enjoyed my jaunt up the river. Learnt a lot from your commentary.’

‘Discovered any relations yet?’ Sabine asked.

Braxton shook his head. ‘Nope not yet, ma’am, but I’m working on it. Got a couple of other things to sort out as well.’ He extended his hand to her. ‘Guess I’d better introduce myself. I’m Braxton Brael – known as BB to my friends.’

‘Hello, BB. I’m Sabine and this is Owen.’

‘You in town for long?’ Owen asked.

‘Planning on staying for summer. Looking to rent an apartment, buy a boat and find those relatives!’

‘What sort of boat?’ Owen asked.

‘I’m pretty flexible on that score but a forty-foot wooden sailing ketch would fit the bill perfectly,’ BB said. ‘I’ll just have to see what turns up during summer.’

‘You planning on sailing back to America?’

‘Sure am. Will need a crew, of course, but first I’ve got to find the boat. Would sure appreciate any contacts you could give me.’

‘You need to talk to my brother Johnnie,’ Sabine said, getting down from her bar stool. ‘He’s a yacht deliverer. Gets a lot of work from various agencies. He’ll know if there are any suitable boats around. I’ll mention you to him. Right, got to go. Thanks for the drink, Owen, see you tomorrow. Nice to meet you properly, BB. Good luck with all your searches. See you around.’

‘Appreciate that,’ BB said, turning to Owen as Sabine left. ‘Nice lady.’

Owen nodded. ‘One of the best. I’m afraid I’m off too. Can I refill that for you before I go?’ he asked, looking at the glass in BB’s hand.

‘No thanks. I’m on my way into the restaurant for dinner,’ BB said lifting the glass to his lips and finishing his drink before making his way through to the restaurant.

After dinner, BB handed his room key to the receptionist in the foyer and went out. A walk around town before bed would be good. He stood for a few moments, deciding which way to go before crossing the road. The tide was coming in and the small boats in the inner harbour, moored closely together, were nudging fenders as the water shifted them. The evening air was cool and the gusts of wind making the river choppy had him zipping up his fleece and pulling the collar higher as he crossed the road to the embankment, turning in the direction of the Higher Ferry.

Bit late this evening to explore the marina at this end of town he’d glimpsed on his river trip, but at least he’d be able to check if there was a yachting agency he could register with. Glancing up at the Royal Naval College, sitting on the hill dominating the town, the silver-framed photo of Grandpa Millman aged nineteen and his brother, Uncle Lance, twenty-one that stood on the bureau in his mother’s bedroom came into his mind. Taken before they’d left for Europe, both stood tall and proud in their GI uniforms, arms around each other’s shoulders. So sad that Lance hadn’t survived the war, Grandpa Millman had always spoken of his big brother with affection and admitted he still missed him. Had either of them ever been inside that wonderful building? Or had they spent all their time out in one of the field camps?

After locating the yachting agency and checking opening hours, BB turned and walked back to the hotel. He’d promised to Skype Jessica this evening at ten o’clock his time.

Jessica was already online when he opened his laptop and signed in.

‘Hi, Bro! How’s it going? Found us any wealthy cousins yet?’

‘Barely started really, Jess but it’s great here. You’d love it. No sign of any cousins yet – wealthy or otherwise.’

‘Shame. You have, of course, taken some photos?’

‘Yep. I’ll email them tomorrow. How’s Mom?’

‘She’s okay-ish. She’s finally started to go through the last of Grandmother Mary’s boxes of papers.’

‘Must be hard for her. Found anything interesting?’

‘Not yet. Lots of letters from both Grandpa Randy and Uncle Lance and a few other bits, but we have unearthed a box of stuff that appears to be from WWII. I’m going to go through that as soon as I have a moment. Feel a bit guilty – it’s a bit like reading someone’s private diary but it’s fascinating.’

‘All in the name of research. You haven’t found any papers about Grandmother Mary’s own background?’

‘Nope. Hoping you’ll have more luck now you’re over there.’

‘Fingers crossed. Give my love to Mom. I’ll let you know as soon as I discover anything, but right now I’m off to bed to do a little night-time reading about Dartmouth.’

‘And I’ve got to pick up the kids from school. Night.’

BB closed his laptop before moving across to the window. From his vantage point on the fourth floor, he could see the lights on the river and across on the opposite bank. What was that place? Ah, Kingswear. So many places to explore/visit, but tomorrow he was going to concentrate on finding somewhere to live for summer.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HARRIET

‘So there you have it, Mrs Lewis. You inherit your ex-sister-in-law’s house here in town and your daughter inherits a substantial sum of money from a trust set up by her aunt which I will have to talk to her about personally – provided you accept the legacy and the conditions attached to it.’

‘How substantial a sum?’ Harriet asked weakly. ‘And the conditions?’

Trevor Bagshawe rustled a few papers before looking up and saying, ‘As of yesterday, £900,000. But, of course, there is interest accruing all the time.’

Nine hundred thousand pounds? How the hell had Amy accumulated that kind of money? It wasn’t an amount she, Harriet, could even dream of recompensing Ellie with when she turned down the legacy. Which she would. No way could she accept whatever the conditions were. The impact on Ellie’s life would be too colossal.

‘There are just two conditions, both quite brief and to the point,’ Trevor said and started to read from one of the pieces of paper. ‘1.You must agree to live in the house for at least a year and keep it in good repair. 2. Ellie must eventually inherit it. In other words,’ he glanced up at Harriet, ‘You are not allowed to sell it. There is a sum of money entailed with the house to pay for essential maintenance.’

He placed the papers down on his desk and smiled at her. ‘So nothing too contentious there. Your sister-in-law also left you a private letter.’ He pushed a sealed envelope across the desk towards her.

Harriet could only look at him in dismay. Nothing contentious? What did he know? The first condition rendered everything unacceptable.

‘Has your firm acted for Amy in other matters?’ Harriet asked, fingering the embossed envelope. Just how much did this man know about her and the scandal that had torn her life apart years ago?

‘Oh yes,’ Trevor said. ‘Not me personally. I only joined the firm two years ago, but I understand Mr Atkins, the senior partner, was a great friend and had advised Miss Widdicombe for a number of years on various matters. I took over most of his probate cases when he retired last year.’

‘I see.’ Did that mean he knew the history behind this bequest? No way was she going to ask the question.

‘It’s a small town, Mrs Lewis, but confidentiality is everything in our business,’ the solicitor said quietly, somehow sensing her unspoken question.

So he did know about her past. No secrets in small towns, however hard you try. Harriet could imagine the tit-a-tattle that would happen once the locals, particular the older ones, realised who had inherited Amy Widdicombe’s house.

‘I have to think about this. Talk to my husband. To my daughter,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s a bit of a shock.’

Trevor nodded. ‘Understandable. I have a key to the house if you’d like to take a look?’

‘Umm,’ Harriet hesitated. ‘OK. Thanks,’ she said, standing up. Easier to take the key than to make an excuse. Right now, she needed some air and space to think.

‘One more thing, Mrs Lewis,’ Trevor said. ‘If for some reason you decide not to accept the legacy conditions, our instructions are to sell the house and donate the money to a local charity – along with the monies from the trust fund.’

So Ellie would end up with nothing. Would never need to know about Amy or her brother. The whole episode could stay in the past and Ellie could continue to live her life in happy ignorance.

Harriet left the solicitor’s office and made her way through town with no real knowledge of where she was going, but instinctively making for the remembered back lanes, away from the shops and people until she found herself walking through the Royal Avenue Gardens and crossing the road towards the embankment.

Why, oh why, had Amy left her and Ellie the house? No contact for years and now a bequest that threatened everything she held dear. How was Frank – let alone Ellie – going to react to this legacy from her past?

A few people were strolling along the embankment, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and watching the activity on the river. Harriet dodged around a young couple lost in a world of their own. Ahead of her she could see four or five people standing by the river trips kiosk, eating hot cross buns, drinking coffee and generally blocking the way. Harriet, quickly glancing behind her to check the traffic, stepped off the pavement and crossed the road, not wanting to disturb what was clearly a friendly get-together amongst locals.

Wandering up Newcomen Road and into South Town, Harriet could feel the key in her pocket banging against her leg. Amy’s house was just up the road. She could walk there in less than ten minutes if she wanted to. Maybe she’d just go and look at the outside. Looking wouldn’t affect her decision in any way. But why bother to even look at the house – it would only bring back painful memories – when she had no intention of accepting the legacy. Knowing Frank though, he would insist on exploring every eventuality, every possible escape clause, before he’d allow her to turn the offer down.

Deep in thought, Harriet walked on, barely noticing her surroundings until she reached the junction of Swannaton and Above Town. Decision time. Fingering the key in her pocket, she stood looking up at the short steep incline that was the beginning of Swannaton. How many times in the past had she breathlessly pushed Ellie in her stroller up there to reach Aunt Amy’s house a hundred yards or so further on from where she stood now? Did she want to re-trace those footsteps today? On her own? Without the support of Frank? So many memories would surface. Memories that were hers alone – her life before Frank. It would be better to face them privately. But not today, Harriet decided, turning resolutely on to the Above Town road. The implications of the legacy were enough to think about for now, without adding sentimental nostalgia into the mix. Easier to think straight, plan how she was going to convince Frank that refusing to accept Amy’s inheritance was the right thing to do, without the complication of remembering how happy she’d once been when the house had been a part of her life.

Walking back into town along the narrow road, Harriet tried to marshal her thoughts into a logical order, the way she’d point them out to Frank. The main stipulation of the legacy that she must live in the house for a year would be the real deal-breaker with Frank, she was sure. No way would he countenance giving up his own home, even temporarily. It was too convenient for work, the golf club and, after twenty years, he’d finally got the garden the way he wanted.

Harriet took a deep breath as she approached the Crowthers Hill junction. Who was she trying to kid that, so long as Frank agreed with refusing the legacy, everything would be fine. Deep down, she knew it was really Ellie, the daughter she’d give her life for, who was at the root of the biggest moral and guilt-induced headache that was beginning to throb in her head.

‘Good god! I don’t believe it. Tatty?’ A woman running down to the junction stopped and stared in amazement at her.

Harriet herself forced to stop to avoid bumping into the woman, looked at her equally surprised.

‘Beeny?’

‘Yes.’ The woman threw her arms around Harriet and hugged her. ‘God, it’s so good to see you.’

‘You too,’ Harriet said, returning the hug.

‘Are you on holiday? We must meet. Catch up.’

‘Lots of catching up to do,’ Harriet said ruefully.

‘Come to supper tonight. Six doors up on the right. Scarlet front door. Seven o’clock.’

Harriet hesitated before smiling and saying ‘Just you and me? OKAY. But please don’t mention to anyone that you’ve bumped into me.’

‘Promise. Have to dash, I’m already late,’ Sabine said. ‘See you later.’

‘Look forward to it,’ Harriet said as Sabine waved and ran on down the hill.