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

Chapter 20

Trish gasped as she saw the stack of newspapers delivered that morning. There, waiting to be displayed on the shelves, spread the shocking front-page news of the Lancashire Evening Standard : Killers Caught! She hastily pulled the top copy out from the pile to read.

Two men have been arrested and charged with the death of Thomas Boyd,

who was killed instantly in a hit-and-run accident in Carston last

October. Ian Dixon and Adrian Hall admitted colliding into Mr Boyd

whilst being under the influence of alcohol. It has yet to be

established who was driving the vehicle. Adrian Hall, from Samphire Bay,

employed Ian Dixon, a manual worker, during the time the accident took

place. Both men remain in custody, whilst further investigations are

made.

Two profile pictures of each man appeared beneath the article.

‘Oh my God!’ wheezed Trish, hand over her mouth in astonishment. All this time, the killers of poor Jasmine Boyd’s husband had been right here, in Samphire Bay. Or at least one of them had, she thought, knowing who Adrian Hall was. He had come into her shop many a time. Trish held the newspaper right up to her eyes to examine the photograph of Ian Dixon. She couldn’t in all honesty recall ever seeing his face – and it was one she’d certainly remember; a cruel, gruff-looking man he looked, too. The shot didn’t do him any favours with his unshaven face, steely hard glare and thin straight mouth. As for Adrian, well he was looking pretty shifty too, but more in a pathetic, weak way. His eyes seemed to hold an element of sorrow, or shame, in Trish’s opinion.

Her first instincts were to ring Bunty. This was hot news, absolute premier gossip! Trish scurried into the back and grabbed the phone. Shaking with anticipation, she punched out Bunty’s telephone number. She could hardly contain herself, wait till she told Bunty all the scandal!

In the meantime, Bunty was putting the finishing touches on Jasmine’s breakfast tray. Deciding she would treat the girl to breakfast in bed, it being her first morning there, she had prepared her speciality, eggs Benedict. A fresh pot of tea had been made and Bunty was just slicing the toast to put in the rack before adding it to the tray. She was so absorbed in the kitchen that she hadn’t heard the phone ringing out in the hall, nor the upstairs phone reverberating noisily round the landing.

Jasmine woke to hear the loud, insistent trill. Whoever it was ringing, they weren’t giving up, she thought, rolling her eyes. Was it not obvious that Bunty wasn’t available? After a few more relentless rings, Jasmine got up and stomped out onto the landing, where the phone was loudly buzzing on a console table by a chaise lounge. She picked it up with purpose and was just about to speak when a high-pitched woman’s voice blasted down the receiver.

‘Oh Bunty, you’ll never guess, it’s in the papers this morning, that two men have been charged with the killing of that poor Jasmine’s husband, you know, Thomas Boyd, and you’ll never guess, but one of them was from Samphire Bay. Samphire Bay! I can’t believe it, Adrian Hall, he’s come into my shop many a time and to think!’

Jasmine froze, unable to move or speak as Trish’s tone of excited scandal filled her ears.

‘Bunty, Bunty are you there dear? What a do, I couldn’t believe the papers this morning when they were delivered, I—’

Jasmine slammed the phone down. Her chest started to tighten and she forced herself to take steady, deep breaths. She heard Bunty call from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Oh, you’re up, darling! I was just about to bring you breakfast in bed.’

Jasmine turned around ashen faced.

‘I just answered the phone, Bunty,’ she croaked in a hoarse voice. ‘It was some woman, talking non-stop, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’

‘Oh that’ll be Trish,’ said Bunty dismissively.

‘She was going on about the newspapers, how it’s all over the news they’ve caught Tom’s killers…’ Jasmine’s chin wobbled and tears threatened to fall.

‘Now just you get back into bed and eat this breakfast,’ Bunty gently cajoled. Typical Trish, she thought, blabbering away like that. ‘Come on, never mind her, she’s just a tittle-tattle. Not worth worrying about.’

Jasmine inhaled deeply again and allowed herself to be herded back into bed. Once nicely tucked in, with the tray on her lap, she delved into the eggs Benedict, while Bunty sat beside her in the velvet shell chair, sipping tea.

‘We can’t stop what the newspapers print, darling, but we can make sure you’re left in peace. Whilst you are here, nobody can get anywhere near you, remember that, Jasmine.’ Bunty was looking steadfast, determined to reassure her.

Jasmine carried on munching on her breakfast and bobbed her head in acknowledgment. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she did concede it was fully predictable the story would be covered, after all, that’s why she was here. And, like it had last October, would soon be yesterday’s news. At least this time there was no room for speculation so the whole episode wouldn’t be dragged through the media again. Give it a few days and it would finally be over, she told herself, as her dad had done last night when she’d rung her parents to tell them the news.

They too were thankful the killer of their son-in-law had finally been caught and detained. Her dad had also called Tom’s parents, even though he knew Jasmine would be speaking to them at some point, he wanted to share her burden. More than anything they prayed it would aid Jasmine to heal and move forward with her life. They were liking the sound of this next-door neighbour of hers, who, by all accounts, couldn’t do enough to help Jasmine. Now it seemed Robin had whisked their daughter away from the dreaded limelight of the media to a safe haven.

Jasmine soon finished her breakfast and felt better already with a full stomach.

‘That was delicious, Bunty, thanks again.’ She smiled, ever mindful of the old lady’s kindness. Then, like it had with Robin, Jasmine began to question why Bunty was showing so much compassion… and always had to a virtual stranger. ‘Bunty, why did you sell your cottage to me at such a knock-down price?’

‘Because I wanted to, darling,’ Bunty answered simply. ‘Both cottages needed love and attention, bringing back to life, and I knew you were the person to do it.’

‘Me and Robin?’

Bunty smiled wryly. ‘Robin wanted both cottages.’

Jasmine was shocked by the news. ‘Did he?’ He’d never once indicated this to her – had she missed something in their interactions? Did he still feel that way?

‘Oh yes, he and Jack saw them as a real business venture. Given their way I suspect they’d have created one large country house, the full works.’

Jasmine frowned. ‘Then why didn’t you sell them both to Robin and Jack?’

‘It just didn’t feel right. I wanted the cottages to remain as they were, two separate homes.’ Bunty gazed wistfully into the distance.

‘Who lived in the cottages, Bunty?’ Jasmine asked, half knowing there must be an emotional tie.

‘Local fishermen,’ she replied.

‘Perry, the man in the photographs, lived in Robin’s cottage, didn’t he?’

Bunty’s eyes came back to rest on Jasmine’s face.

‘Yes, he did.’

Jasmine decided to venture further, but tread with care. ‘What happened to Perry?’ she enquired gently.

Bunty inhaled deeply, then exhaled on a loud sigh, bracing herself for the memories that were, once again, being brought to the surface.

‘He sailed away, darling, out of my life.’

‘Do you know where to?’

‘Sorry?’ Bunty’s forehead puckered.

‘I mean, do you know where he is now?’ Jasmine searched her face.

‘No, how would I know?’ replied Bunty, genuinely puzzled by Jasmine’s question.

‘There’s ways and means, Bunty. The world’s a smaller place nowadays with the internet.’

At this Bunty burst into laughter. ‘What, you mean track him down, darling?’

There was a pregnant silence.

Bunty looked sceptically at Jasmine. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Just a thought, Bunty. Supposing he’s not that far away?’

‘Hmm and married with children and umpteen grandchildren?’ she said dryly. ‘Do you really think he’ll remember me?’

‘But what if he isn’t and he did remember you, Bunty?’ Jasmine asked in a small but insistent voice.

Bunty didn’t have an answer.

Robin opened his wardrobe whilst laughing softly to himself. It was Saturday, the evening of the dinner party at Bunty’s. Originally, he was sure, Jasmine’s offer had been intended to be a simple kitchen supper, but now it had escalated to some kind of formal, elaborate affair. Bunty had even given him strict instructions on what to wear when she’d announced it was a black tie event.

‘ Really? ’ he’d asked, convinced the old bird was pulling his leg.

Apparently not, if her pursed lips and frosty glare were anything to go by.

So, dinner suit and black tie it was, and he reached into the far corner of his wardrobe to pull out the one and only suit he owned. Good job it was black.

However, once dressed and assessing his appearance in the full-length mirror, he was rather pleased with the finished article. He took in the smooth, fitted contours of his strong physique. The trousers hugged his muscular thighs and the jacket his wide shoulders. The crisp, white shirt complimented his tanned skin and dark hair.

‘Not too shabby, Spencer,’ he said out loud to his reflection. Then he wondered if Jasmine would be impressed with his look. Would she appreciate him as an attractive, hot-blooded male, or a smartly dressed friend simply making an effort? And, depending which category he fell into, would she let him know? Would he get any inclination as to how she felt about him? Once or twice he had suspected there could be something, some tiny spark in the way she’d looked at him. His mind flashed back to the morning they’d swum in the bay, her eyes had definitely clocked what good shape he was in, and he’d been pleased when her gaze had rested on his bare chest a touch too long. Then, the other day he’d sensed she had been staring at him from the kitchen doorway.

Even if this was so, was Jasmine in the right frame of mind? Robin sighed. He’d actually been looking forward to this evening, but now on reflection he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Yes, it had been Jasmine’s idea to cook for Bunty, but would she have suggested it had she known about Bunty’s intent? What would Jasmine really think if she was fully aware of Bunty’s agenda? Laugh at an old lady playing cupid, or be mortally offended by her meddling? To make matters worse – or better, again depending on which category he fell into – Robin had fallen into Bunty’s trap. He was playing the exact role Bunty had cast him in. He’d fallen for Jasmine. The question was, which role was Jasmine going to take? And more significantly, was she ready to play at all?

‘Now, darling, I think the gold, strappy number, or… maybe this?’ Bunty held out an elegant indigo blue silk gown.

‘Oh Bunty, I couldn’t possibly wear that!’ exclaimed Jasmine in awe. It was one of the most stylish dresses she’d ever seen.

‘Of course you can,’ replied Bunty waving her refusal away. ‘It certainly won’t fit me anymore,’ she chuckled.

Jasmine imagined a much younger Bunty, just like in those photographs, wearing this exquisite gown. What a beauty she must have looked. Had the elusive Perry seen her in it? Most probably. She faced Bunty who was looking affectionately at her. The old dear was enjoying this, like a child playing at dressing up, she thought endearingly. Then another thought struck her. What company did Bunty have? She was almost stranded out here, in this grand house, living alone, in a pretty secluded spot. God forbid, but what if she had an accident, came unstuck in some way, who’d be here to help?

‘What are you thinking?’ Bunty’s eyes narrowed.

Not wanting to put a dampener on the evening, Jasmine shrugged then smiled. ‘What will you wear?’

‘Ah, now my outfit is shrouded in mystery,’ she said, eyes twinkling.

Jasmine giggled with anticipation, realising how much she enjoyed this lady’s company. Bunty was a real mixture. She was strong, forthright, compassionate and most of all fun.

Robin was prompt, not daring to be late. As Bunty welcomed him into the hall, he was greeted with 1930s dance band music. It really set the tone.

‘We thought of playing daddy’s old records on the gramophone,’ explained Bunty as she led him through the hall.

We? thought Robin. It seemed Bunty and Jasmine had been hitting it off well.

‘I must say, Robin, you cut quite a dashing figure in that dinner suit,’ Bunty called over her shoulder as she entered the dining room.

‘Why thank you, Bunty. And might I say how spectacular you look too?’ He raised a playful eyebrow.

‘You may.’ She grinned. ‘This was my mother’s dress, made for her thirtieth birthday party. The house was alive with music, dance and high spirits. She had a passion for the art deco era, as did my grandmother, hence her love of this place.’

Bunty did indeed look spectacular in the cocktail dress with glittering gold beading and swinging black fringe. She wore a silver headpiece with a draped crystal head chain.

Robin pictured the scene of the birthday party like something from an Agatha Christie drama, with chic clad ladies puffing smoke into the air from long cigarette holders, gentlemen in smart tuxedo formal wear, hair slicked back and flamboyant moustaches, band music gently playing from the gramophone, just like tonight.

Then, in came Jasmine, and Robin’s jaw literally dropped, bringing a smirk to Bunty’s face. The long, blue gown had a cowl neckline, spaghetti straps and an alluring side leg split, revealing a smooth, tanned thigh. Robin’s pulse started to race.

‘So, let’s eat, darlings!’ trilled Bunty, pleased with Robin’s reaction.

Together Jasmine and Bunty had prepared the starter course of garlic mushrooms. They were ready and waiting on the hostess trolley which Bunty wheeled in. As they sat down, Robin dutifully filled their champagne flutes, whilst struggling to keep a straight face. It really was like a scene from a whodunnit. Would the murderer be Bunty, with the candlestick, in the library? He tittered inwardly.

‘Everything all right, Robin?’ enquired Bunty with a slight edge to her voice. She’d noticed his lips twitching. Was the boy humouring her?

‘Of course, Bunty, and thanks, really, for going to so much trouble.’ He gave her a winning smile. That seemed to appease her.

‘No trouble, Robin, thank Jasmine, she’s the one who cooked the meal.’

Robin turned to Jasmine and they exchanged a knowing smile. He could tell this charade of a dinner party wasn’t lost on her either.

‘Thanks, Jasmine,’ he said, holding her gaze.

‘My pleasure,’ she said with a smile. ‘I propose a toast, to—’

‘Happy ever afters,’ butted in Bunty, raising her glass.

Jasmine and Robin swapped another look before raising their glasses too.

‘Happy ever afters!’ they all chorused.

After a splendid meal of beef wellington, followed by cheesecake, they sat drinking Irish coffees, feeling suitably stuffed, if not a little tipsy from all the champagne. Bunty’s tongue began to loosen, which didn’t take much considering she was already a straight talker. As drink often did with her, it brought to the surface emotions she’d otherwise managed to keep under wraps when stone-cold sober.

‘I love this house, as you know,’ she started, then hiccupped.

‘We know you do,’ said Jasmine comfortingly.

‘But it cost me to stay here, with daddy,’ Bunty continued sadly.

Robin frowned, not knowing where this was heading, and flicked a concerned glance at Jasmine.

‘He hated Perry, you see, wouldn’t let him near the place,’ Bunty carried on in a melancholy undertone. She hiccupped again. ‘He didn’t want him near me either, but I defied him you know.’

There was a stilted silence before Jasmine spoke.

‘Bunty, I think I know where Perry is.’

It took a few moments for Jasmine’s statement to sink in.

‘Pardon?’ Bunty blinked.

‘Just a minute,’ said Jasmine and got up from the table. Within minutes she’d returned with her laptop. Quickly she found the Facebook page where Perry appeared with three other men. She enlarged it and went to show it Bunty. ‘Is this Perry?’

Bunty swallowed. She’d know that face anywhere. Slowly her eyes swept from the screen to rest on Jasmine.

‘Yes,’ she replied and gulped again. ‘I don’t understand…’

‘He owns a narrowboat. We bought a water pump off him a few years ago and I managed to find him on this group page, then traced his boat and personal details.’

Bunty visibly paled.

‘Perry Scholar lives in Lancaster,’ said Jasmine in a soft voice.

After a few moments of silence, Robin gently suggested they all turn in.

‘It’s been quite a night, ladies, I think we should all get some sleep.’