Second Chances at Samphire Bay (Samphire Bay Village #1)

Chapter 5

Jack Knowles sat by the bar waiting for his friend and business partner to arrive. He had Robin’s pint ready for him, knowing what he’d want. It wasn’t long before Robin pushed through the pub doors with a foul expression. Immediately, Jack’s shoulders slumped – this wasn’t going to be good news. Without needing to say a word he passed Robin his drink. Robin nodded in thanks, took a mouthful, wiped his mouth and looked at Jack.

‘She’ll only sell us one cottage, not both of them,’ he stated flatly.

‘Why?’ Jack asked, surprised. Robin shrugged.

‘Because it’s Bunty?’ he offered dryly. ‘Because she can?’

Still, Jack was perplexed. It didn’t make any sense. ‘But if both cottages are on the market, why not sell both of them to us? We’re offering the asking price.’

Robin gave an impatient sigh. ‘She says we’ll have to “wait and see” who the other buyer is,’ he replied, quoting Bunty’s words.

‘You mean, someone else is interested?’ Jack’s voice rose.

‘So she says.’ Robin raised an eyebrow. ‘I think it could be a ploy, get us to up the offer.’

‘Really?’ Jack considered it. ‘I’m not sure about that, Rob, not when she’s named her price and we’re happy to pay it.’ Although Bunty could be seen as difficult at times, he didn’t think she was greedy or calculating in that way.

‘You’re probably right, Jack, it’s not as if she’s short of money, is it?’ conceded Robin, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. ‘But why not sell us both cottages? It makes better sense to sell to one buyer, rather than two.’

However much Bunty Deville exasperated him, he still thought fondly of her. She had a kind heart and he knew how she had helped various residents in Samphire Bay. She was a long-standing friend of his parents and had given him and Jack work in the early days when setting up their business; it had been Bunty who had stipulated that Robin and Jack convert the Victorian folly into a place of retreat before selling it to the church.

They’d also often done odd jobs for Bunty around her home. Living in such a palatial space, there had been many over the years. She trusted them and in turn they had always maintained a high standard, without charging the earth.

Once, Bunty had been convinced her house was haunted. Robin and Jack listened to her tale of how a ghost made up the fireplace every morning, becoming more and more unnerved as piles of twigs appeared in the hearth each day. Not really taking her seriously, but showing concern, they had offered to stay over one night.

‘See for yourselves!’ she’d exclaimed.

So the two of them took their sleeping bags and camped out on Bunty’s drawing room floor.

‘Look at the fireplace, boys, it’s empty,’ she’d said before bidding them good night.

Robin and Jack exchanged grins before settling down to sleep. Come the morning, though, they weren’t grinning. Sure enough, a mound of twigs sat in the grate, ready to be lit. They stared, puzzled, at each other.

‘How the hell did that get there?’ said Robin, frowning at the mystery.

‘Dunno.’ Jack scratched his head.

Then, they heard a bird calling down the chimney breast. Robin bent to take a closer look at the wood in the grate, which was covered in soot. A slow smile spread across his face.

‘It’s a bird’s nest,’ he laughed, then looked up the chimney. Another bird’s call echoed down. ‘Jackdaws,’ he said, laughing again.

When they’d reported all this to Bunty, she’d burst into hysterics.

‘You mean the jackdaws have been building nests and they keep falling down the chimney?’

‘Yes, Bunty, that’s exactly what’s been happening,’ Robin said in amusement.

‘Oh, thank you so much, darlings. You’ve set my mind at rest.’ She chuckled.

It hadn’t taken long for the story to circulate round Samphire Bay, giving everyone a good giggle. Even so, Bunty had been appreciative to both Robin and Jack for their assistance.

All in all, they had a good relationship with Bunty, which made her recent behaviour all the more puzzling. What was the old bird up to?

Jasmine sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the photograph album, ‘Welcome aboard Moonshine !’ emblazoned over the cover in Tom’s swirly writing in silver marker. Gulping, Jasmine opened it. There she was, Moonshine in a dilapidated state in the yard, waiting patiently for them to collect her. Each photograph depicted the gradual transformation of the boat; a selection of ‘before’ pictures showing the bare carcass of the vessel, with its inners ripped out, to the ‘after’ pictures, boasting of a chic and stylish floating house.

Jasmine homed in on the images of Tom – installing the kitchenette, fitting the wood-burner, assembling their bed – and a lump formed in her throat. They’d looked so happy, building their home together. Her absolute favourite shot had to be of the two of them clinking champagne flutes on the deck under a starry sky with a full moon shining behind them. It had been the first night they had slept on the boat, and it was made extra special when the moon was beaming in all its glory. Happy, happy days.

With a determined effort, Jasmine shut the album. Tomorrow, hopefully, would mark the beginning of a new start, a new era.

She so wanted the cottage in Samphire Bay to be the right move for her, needing something to focus on. But was it? Could she just be trying to replicate what she’d done with Tom, only this time going solo? No, Jasmine told herself, she had to live somewhere. Why not in a new place, where people didn’t stare at her with sorrowful eyes? She had to get out of Carston, it was suffocating her. There was only so much pity Jasmine could take, however well intended. She’d had enough.

‘It’s time to move on, Tom,’ she whispered, touching the heart pendant necklace he’d given her and which she always wore. She longed to hear his voice, or be given a sign, anything to show he was nearby. But no, nothing, just an empty silence.

The estate agent stood in front of the cottages and breathed in the fresh, salty air. Well, it was certainly a good day for a viewing. The sun was glistening on the still waters of the bay from a cloudless blue sky. All was quiet and calm, apart from the distant call of the gulls. Blocking the sunlight with her hand, she saw a car making its way up the track. Watching the pale grey Morris Minor, the agent grinned to herself.

As the car drew closer, she could see Ms Deville through the windscreen, living up to her reputation, wearing a lime green bandana accompanied by large sunglasses.

‘Hello, Ms Deville!’ she called, walking to meet her once the car was parked. ‘I’m Cheryl Barrow, we spoke on the phone,’ she said, offering her hand to be shaken.

‘Good day,’ Bunty breezed, barely touching hands. Her attention was on the cottages, giving them a fixed stare.

‘They’re lovely, aren’t they?’ the agent gushed, wanting to set a good impression. Bunty lifted her dark glasses from her eyes and looked directly at her.

‘No,’ she replied bluntly with a cool, dismissive look. ‘But they could be. Let’s not shilly-shally,’ Bunty continued, ‘the cottages need a lot of attention and I don’t want you to pretend otherwise. You’ll put potential buyers off.’

‘Yes, I see,’ Cheryl replied through gritted teeth.

‘Nobody likes a bullshitter, darling,’ Bunty finished with a tight smile.

Well, that certainly told her, Cheryl thought, suddenly wishing she hadn’t offered to do the viewing after all. A few of the agents in the office had been keen to step in in her place. They obviously thought it would have been entertaining, amusing even, but now she was feeling a sense of dread.

‘Ah, that must be Mrs Boyd,’ she said with relief, noticing a silver car advancing towards them.

Bunty’s head turned sharply. She watched intently, waiting for the figure at the wheel to get out. Taking in the blonde bobbed hair, brown suede jacket, faded jeans and Chelsea boots, Bunty’s instincts told her Mrs Boyd had style. Judging by the way she walked, head up, shoulders back, she also had an air of confidence too. Good start.

‘Hello, Mrs Boyd. Did you manage to find us all right?’ enquired the agent, rushing over to meet her.

That’s right , thought Bunty with a roll of her eyes, imply that the place is hard to get to . The cottages might be on a secluded coastal path, but that was part of their allure in her eyes. She resented that the estate agent may have hinted otherwise.

‘Fine, thanks,’ smiled Jasmine.

As the two walked towards Bunty, she got a better look at her. Bunty gave a sharp intake of breath. My, what a beauty she was! Immediately she saw Mrs Boyd through a young man’s eyes. Robin’s, in particular. An innate sense told her they would make a perfect match. Then, Bunty steadied herself. She didn’t definitely know if this was the same Mrs Boyd she was assuming it was.

‘I’m Ms Deville, the owner,’ she announced holding her hand out. ‘Call me Bunty.’

‘Hi, I’m Jasmine,’ came the reply as she shook hands.

Bunty gave one of her most enchanting smiles and held Jasmine’s hand a fraction too long.

Hmm, not quite the reception I got , thought Cheryl, before giving a slight cough.

‘Right, shall we make a start?’ she asked politely.

The agent turned the key in the lock and the door gave a loud creek as it opened, making her wince. They entered the hallway, brightly lit by the rays beaming in through the windows, but also illuminating all the dust in the air. Jasmine seemed undeterred, fully expecting to see dirt and dust in a building that had been left derelict for years.

They were in the right-side cottage, nearest to the sea, but Jasmine had asked to view them both. Her eyes darted about, taking in the bare wooden stairs, a spindled banister (with some spindles missing), the damp blotched wallpaper peeling from the walls, two rotten window frames either side of a decaying wooden door. The floorboards appeared solid underfoot though, Jasmine noticed, as her boots walked along them.

‘As you can see, the cottages are in need of a lot of attention,’ remarked the agent, quoting Bunty’s words.

‘Yeah,’ nodded Jasmine. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she replied in a quiet voice, not particularly directed at anyone, more to herself.

Bunty narrowed her eyes in interest. This Jasmine Boyed intrigued her and she was desperate to find out more about her. In typical Bunty fashion, she plunged in regardless.

‘Are you looking to live here alone, or—’

‘Just me,’ interrupted Jasmine, disliking the question. It felt intrusive. It was intrusive – and what was she here for anyway? She’d organised the viewing with the estate agents, not the owner.

‘I see.’ Bunty tried to hide just how pleased she was with the answer, as it further confirmed her suspicions.

Then, almost in retaliation, Jasmine asked, her chin raised slightly, ‘How come the cottages have been left empty for so long?’ She felt a degree of satisfaction at seeing the woman’s expression, clearly taken aback at the direct question.

‘Err… well the last tenants left one or two years ago and I hadn’t quite decided what to do with them. Rent out again, or simply sell them,’ answered Bunty.

‘Hmm.’ Jasmine thought it rather a lame answer and didn’t believe it to be the whole truth. The cottages looked like they had been derelict far longer than ‘one or two years’ and why take so long to decide their fate?

Cheryl smirked to herself, sensing a slight tension in the air. A part of her was pleased that Ms Deville had been put on the spot and was tasting her own medicine.

‘Let’s see the kitchen,’ she said to break the awkward moment.

They were greeted by an Eighties style kitchen, with a tiled floor, tiled patterned walls, even a tiled cooker hood. The units were made from a honey coloured mock wood with metal strips running on the doors to open and shut. Jasmine had to suppress a giggle. A short silence followed, each waiting for the other to break it. In the end, it was Bunty.

‘It’s dreadful, I know,’ she sighed, making Jasmine turn to her and openly laugh. Bunty gave a despairing sort of look. ‘But the state of the place is reflected in the asking price—’

‘Well,’ the estate agent jumped in, a touch anxiously. Bunty put her hand up to silence her.

‘But I am open to conversation. I will be flexible,’ she continued.

Jasmine’s head tilted to one side. What a strange creature this Ms Deville was, not quite deciding if she liked her or not. However, she admired her honesty. Not all sellers would openly admit to their property as being dreadful. Something told her to put in a cheeky offer. Was it Tom’s voice? Was this the sign she’d been waiting for? To be honest, Jasmine had practically made her mind up on the journey there. Driving through such idyllic scenery had won her over and then seeing how amazing the location actually was once parked up had clinched it. The cottages weren’t exactly crumbling down. Structurally, they seemed in good shape. It was the internal space that needed all the work, as she’d fully anticipated.

‘Are both cottages still on the market?’ asked Jasmine, mindful of what she’d been told about another buyer.

‘Yes,’ Bunty replied. ‘Take your pick, darling.’

Jasmine couldn’t help but laugh again. She could hear Tom’s voice in her head once more. Make a cheeky offer, Jas! it whispered, even though the viewing hadn’t even finished.

‘I’d like to see both cottages before having a conversation,’ reasoned Jasmine, refusing to be rushed. She was forcing herself to stay calm and rational, despite the rising exhilaration inside her. Could that really have been Tom’s guidance? Or just her own wishful thinking?

Bunty loved it when a plan came together. A sale was in the bag, she knew it! The trouble with Bunty was that she lacked a person in her life to keep her in check. Had she a partner, they would have told her to back off and let people live their own lives. They would have instructed her to mind her own business and exercise discretion. But Bunty didn’t have that sensible, wise counsel. And Bunty didn’t do discrete.

The rest of the viewing carried on in the same vein. The bathroom was in a similar sad, Eighties condition as the kitchen and each of the three bedrooms smelt of damp, had flaking paintwork and peeling wallpaper. The whole place needed gutting and starting again. The absolute winning factor, though, was the view from the master bedroom. The full vista of the bay, stretching out onto the horizon was magnificent. It took Jasmine’s breath away. Looking out of the bedroom window down onto the back lawn, she was also delighted with the size and position of it. South facing meant plenty of sunshine and she would soon have the grass cut and maybe install a paved terrace or decking for outdoor furniture. She pictured herself spending hours out there. Perhaps installing a studio to work in? That rising exhilaration was bubbling over. She turned to look at Bunty, who seemed to be studying her. A strange sensation came over Jasmine. Had they met before? It was as though the woman knew her in some way. Bunty gave her a warm smile, wrinkling the corners of her eyes. Jasmine suddenly felt in a safe place.

‘I don’t need to see the other cottage, Ms Deville,’ she told her. ‘Let’s talk money, shall we?’