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

Chapter 19

Jasmine woke early in the morning. Truth be told, she hadn’t slept well at all. The nightmare of Tom’s accident dominated her mind. Horrific images of him being ploughed into, his lifeless body cruelly abandoned in the road, tormented her over and over. She had wondered in the very beginning, when it had all happened, how she’d feel if she ever learned who her husband’s killer was. Now it looked like she was about to find out.

In a way, she was dreading the police visit, the long-awaited knock on the door, but Jasmine was also experiencing a release, a kind of liberation. If the police had the driver who had ended Tom’s life, then it would bring her some small measure of closure to the whole horrendous business. Yet, Jasmine knew she would never seek true closure on the loss of her husband. She would eternally miss him; every birthday, Christmas, anniversary, plus all the other milestones they’d been robbed of. At times, she’d taken to picturing what their children would have looked like. Would they have had his auburn hair, his boyish freckles? Would they have inherited his practical skills, his hands-on approach, his steady direction?

Jasmine smiled to herself at how impetuous she’d been when buying Moonshine . In typical fashion she was all in, guns blazing, whereas Tom had counselled patience initially, before being persuaded by her. They’d been opposites in many ways, but that had made them a good team.

Jasmine wiped her eyes and went downstairs to put the kettle on. Tea, that’s what people did, wasn’t it, in times of crisis, drink tea? She remembered her mum doing just that, pouring countless cups of tea in the aftermath of the tragedy. At the time it infuriated her, now she was doing the same.

On entering the kitchen, she was surprised to see Robin already there. He’d clearly had similar thoughts and was stood with his back to her, waiting for the kettle to boil. She noticed he had put two cups out and was touched by his thoughtfulness. Jasmine stopped momentarily. He was gazing out of the window, watching how the morning was lighting up into life. His dark curls were ruffled from the night’s sleep and he yawned. Then he turned and saw her at the doorway.

‘Hey you,’ he smiled. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

‘I was just about to make one.’ She walked over to join him by the window.

They stared, side by side, at the glorious view before them. The sun was up, wide awake and shining brightly on a gentle, blue sea. All was calm. Except it wasn’t. Robin braced himself, then spoke.

‘Jasmine, I’ve been thinking.’

She looked up at him. ‘So have I,’ she said in a deflated tone.

‘Of course you have,’ Robin said compassionately, then continued. ‘Jasmine, if the police make an arrest, the press will soon get wind of it.’

‘I know,’ she dully agreed, well aware of how they had operated in the past. The nightmare was about to continue.

‘Do you think it would be a good idea to get away from here for a few days? Until the news settles down?’

Jasmine considered the question, knowing full well how she and her family had previously been hounded relentlessly.

‘Where? Not to my parents’, they’d soon find me there,’ said Jasmine.

‘Yes, they would. I was—’ He stopped. There was a hard knock on the front door. Robin looked at the clock. It was just eight a.m. It could only be the police so early. His heart thumped; they must have made an arrest. Jasmine stared at him, wide-eyed in horror. This was it. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Robin.

Sure enough, two police officers stood solemnly on the doorstep.

‘Morning, sir. I’m Chief Inspector George Bond and this is Sergeant Lucy Burrows.’ They each showed their ID badges. ‘May we speak to Jasmine Boyd?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Robin said. ‘This way.’ He showed them into the kitchen. ‘My name is Robin Spencer, I’m renovating the cottage next door.’ he explained.

‘Ah yes, the man who reported Adrian Hall,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘You did a good job there, son.’ This cemented Robin’s suspicions. They must have detained him.

Once the officers had introduced themselves to Jasmine and they had all taken a seat round the kitchen table, the Chief Inspector told them the dreaded news. They had arrested two men in connection to the killing of Jasmine’s late husband. The two men arrested were named as Adrian Hall and Ian Dixon. Both men had admitted to being in the vehicle at the time of the collision, but each were denying driving the van.

‘Does it matter who was behind the wheel?’ rasped Jasmine, shock steadily being replaced by anger now. ‘They are both to blame! Neither of them bloody stopped, they just drove off and left him!’ Tears collected on her lower lids.

‘Both men have been detained,’ Sergeant Burrows said in a calming tone.

‘Absolutely, Adrian Hall and Ian Dixon are each culpable,’ stated the Chief Inspector.

Robin coughed before speaking.

‘How long will it be before this all gets out? Becomes public knowledge?’ he asked anxiously, looking from one officer to the other.

‘Imminently, that’s why we’re here first thing to prepare you for the inevitable,’ the Chief Inspector replied soberly.

‘Right.’ Robin nodded decisively then turned to Jasmine. ‘You need to pack a bag, Jasmine. I’ve a call to make.’

The police got up to leave.

‘Mrs Boyd, we’ll keep you informed of all proceedings,’ said Sergeant Burrows and handed Jasmine a contact card.

‘Th–thank you.’ Her voice quivered. She chewed her bottom lip.

Robin saw them out, his mind racing. They had to get away from here, pronto. It wouldn’t take long for the news reporters and journalists to come sniffing around. He had to act swiftly.

Robin drove at speed along the coastal path, enroute to the tidal road, his face set in determination. Jasmine had packed a small suitcase and was sat next to him, staring out of the Range Rover’s windows, keeping watch for any sign of unwanted visitors to Samphire Bay.

Once they reached the tidal road, they both sighed with relief. They were safe, driving towards the peninsula. Before long, the tide would come in and reach its peak, totally covering any access to where they were heading, Bunty’s house.

Robin had deduced this would be the best place to hide out. The isolated location was ideal, making it practically impossible for any of the prying press to get to at certain times of the day. And, towering high on a piece of land which gave three hundred and sixty degree views of the landscape, any intruders could easily be spotted. For Robin it had been a no-brainer and once he’d outlined the benefits of Bunty’s house, Jasmine had fully agreed.

After a phone call to Bunty, arrangements had been hastily put into place.

‘Darling, of course Jasmine must stay here!’ Bunty had exclaimed incredulously. She had been appalled at hearing Robin’s revelation and her heart went out to Jasmine. She was more than happy to help in any way possible and, secretly, she was pleased that Robin had had the good sense to involve her, glad that her home could be of good use.

Bunty had immediately started to prepare for her unexpected guest. She pondered over which bedroom to put Jasmine in; there were quite a few to choose from. She settled on the Rose Room, with its pink geometric patterned walls, double bed with oversized plush velvet headboard, matching pink velvet scalloped shell chair, mirrored dressing table and rose-pink cut-glass chandelier. The Burr walnut wardrobe would give Jasmine plenty of storage space; which then prompted Bunty to question how long would her guest be staying? As long as needed, Bunty concluded. The poor girl wanted anonymity – and she’d make damn sure she got it.

It warmed her that she wasn’t the only one desperate to help Jasmine. Robin, bless him, was certainly playing his part too. How right she was about those two. They were clearly made for each other; there was no denying how Robin had taken it upon himself to be so caring and protective towards Jasmine. It cheered her soul that there were still chivalrous young men about like Robin.

Bunty had just finished putting fresh sheets on the bed when the doorbell chimed. They were here already. Good timing, she thought, noticing the sea starting to gradually flow forward. Robin wouldn’t be going anywhere just yet either. A surreptitious smile spread across Bunty’s face. The more the merrier.

She suddenly realised with a poignant pang how lonely she had increasingly become. Living in such a grand house, away from it all, had its drawbacks. Her home may be splendid, with masses of character in a dramatic setting, but rattling around inside alone was proving isolating now for Bunty. She’d never wanted to admit it, to herself as much as anyone else, but as the years tumbled on and she grew older, the impracticalities of coping by herself in such a big, empty place had become… daunting. There, she’d finally acknowledged it. Now came the question, what was she to do about it? Mentally shaking herself, she set off down the sweeping staircase to answer the door to her most welcome visitors.

Opening the door, Bunty was met with two pale faces. Jasmine’s eyes were like saucers.

‘Thank you so much, Bunty,’ she gushed, eager to get in and out of sight.

‘Not at all, darling, come in, come in,’ Bunty quickly ushered the pair inside.

‘There you go.’ Robin put Jasmine’s suitcase down on the marbled tiled floor. ‘I better race back.’ He looked over his shoulder to the tide outside.

‘Certainly not!’ retorted Bunty with force. ‘You more than anyone ought to know how dangerous racing the tide is, Robin Spencer. Now go and put Jasmine’s case in the Rose Room. I’ll fix us all a drink, you look like you could both do with one.’

Robin dutifully did as he was told and set off up the staircase. Jasmine followed Bunty into the drawing room. A part of her was glad Robin wasn’t dashing off. She was comforted by his steady calming presence.

‘Now, darling, stiff gin and tonics all around I’d say,’ said Bunty as she stood by the glass cocktail cabinet preparing the drinks. Jasmine hid a grin; even in such stressful times, Bunty didn’t fail to make her smirk. Bunty’s joie de vivre and strength of character were attributes that Jasmine was starting to admire in the woman. It made such a stark contrast to her mum, who tended to fuss and faff ineffectually, compared to Bunty’s forthrightness. Bunty Deville was a formidable force and one to be reckoned with. She suddenly felt safe here with her, in this fortress about to be cut off from the outside world.

Robin entered the room and rubbed his hands together.

‘I could do with one of your G&T’s,’ he chuckled, knowing how generous Bunty was when pouring out the gin. Not having to drive off too soon meant he could relax and enjoy it. Tension had started to mount up inside him and was building momentum. He badly needed to unwind. Glancing at Jasmine, he noticed she looked more relaxed than she had on the drive over and was knocking back her drink with gusto. Good, coming here had definitely been the right move.

‘Come, sit down you two.’ Bunty signalled towards the sofa and sat in the opposite chair. ‘Now listen, whilst you are here, Jasmine, nobody will come anywhere near you, be assured of that,’ she said firmly.

‘Thank you again, Bunty, I—’ began Jasmine.

‘Not at all,’ cut in Bunty with a wave of her hand.

Robin looked from one to the other. These two are going to get along just fine, he thought to himself.

‘But somebody did promise me a dinner party on Saturday night,’ Bunty continued with a wink.

‘Oh sorry, I—’

‘Not to worry, where better to do it?’ interrupted Bunty again with a big beam.

There was a slight pause.

‘You mean… me cook here?’ Jasmine asked.

‘Yes, darling, why not?’ replied Bunty, hands spread out. Then, turning to Robin, added, ‘And Robin, you must stay overnight. No good throwing a dinner party if you can’t relax with a good glass of champagne,’ she said sweetly with an innocent smile.

Robin coughed into his drink. He wasn’t taken in for one moment with Bunty’s butter-wouldn’t-melt manner. The old bird was up to her tricks and playing cupid again. But, to his surprise, Jasmine intervened before he had a chance to reply.

‘Bunty’s right. You can’t drink and drive, Robin,’ she whispered.

A deadly silence followed. The enormity of the words left a chill in the air. Robin and Bunty exchanged a pained look.

‘Of course Bunty’s right. I’ll stop over,’ he agreed.