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

Chapter 22

‘She kissed you?’ Jack’s eyebrows wriggled mischievously.

‘Yeah, she kissed me,’ replied Robin.

‘Where?’ He winked.

‘On the cheek,’ Robin answered flatly.

‘Oh.’ Jack visibly deflated.

‘She was pissed,’ Robin continued, making his friend burst into laughter. Jack soon stopped at seeing Robin so pensive.

‘Come on then, Rob, tell me all about this bizarre dinner party.’

He put his rubber mallet down. The two were in the new kitchen diner. Having installed the wood burner and the new kitchen units, they were now busy laying quarry tiles on the floor. Robin got up, reached for his flask and poured them each a coffee.

‘Bizarre’s the word, Jack, you should have seen what Bunty was wearing, she looked like some kind of flapper girl.’

Jack spluttered into his drink.

‘But bloody hell, the dress Jasmine had on…’

‘Sexy?’

‘Was it ever,’ Robin stared lustfully into space. ‘Anyway, after lots of champagne we all go upstairs to bed…’

‘Interesting, go on,’ urged Jack.

‘Bunty waltzes off and leaves me and Jasmine on the landing. She thinks she’s upset Bunty over this Perry business—’

‘The guy in the photographs?’

‘Yeah, Bunty’s old flame. So I sat down on the chaise lounge next to Jasmine to console her.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I assured her that she’d only acted with the best of intentions and that Bunty wasn’t averse to playing cupid either. I told her everything.’

Jack had long since heard from Robin about Bunty’s plan to matchmake him with Jasmine. He’d not only found it amusing, but was delighted it had resulted in them paying ten grand less for the cottage.

‘And?’

Robin took a sip of coffee, then looked dejectedly at Jack.

‘She found the whole thing ridiculous,’ he dully answered.

‘Why?’ he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Robin shrugged.

‘She just laughed.’

‘But what did she say?’ Jack was beginning to feel a little offended on behalf of his mate.

‘That it was kind of endearing on Bunty’s behalf, but more than anything she found it funny that she’d reduced the asking price of both cottages to carry out her ploy.’

‘Hmm, maybe that’s what she was laughing at, not the thought of being in a relationship with you?’ comforted Jack.

‘You think so?’ asked Robin, wanting to believe him.

‘Yes, especially if she’d had a lot to drink, she was probably just giddy.’ There was a moment’s reflection before Jack added, ‘So how did the kiss come about?’

‘She just leant forward and kissed me on the cheek and said good night.’

‘You could just tell her how you feel? Put your cards on the table?’ suggested Jack.

‘Not now, Jasmine’s under too much pressure at the moment and…’

‘What?’

‘I don’t want to ruin our friendship.’

Jack nodded, understanding his mate’s predicament. He was at least glad that Robin had finally been open and honest about his feelings for Jasmine. Hopefully this could be the beginning of something good for him.

‘Give it time, Rob, you’ll know when to make a move.’ He elbowed him with affection. Then, changing the subject completely, asked, ‘Anyway, what are we doing for your birthday?’

‘Probably the usual,’ replied Robin, then tipped his head back to finish his drink.

‘Piss up at The Smugglers?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

Jasmine had made a decision. As welcoming and lovely as Bunty was, it was time to go home. A few more days had passed. Feeling confident that the press must by now have moved on to fresher news, she thought it safe to get back to her cottage. When voicing this to her host, Bunty had nodded in agreement.

‘I think we’re over the worst now, darling,’ she remarked.

Jasmine thought it sweet she’d used the term ‘we’ as opposed to ‘you’, giving the impression she wasn’t alone in this.

‘I’ll get Robin to come and fetch you.’

‘No, I’ll walk,’ replied Jasmine, wanting to stretch her legs and get some fresh sea air.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘In that case, you’d better wait till after high tide,’ warned Bunty.

‘I know. I’ll get packed and ready,’ Jasmine said, then looked Bunty in the eye. ‘Bunty, thanks so much for having me. I really appreciate it.’

‘Not at all, darling, it’s been a pleasure having you.’

Jasmine was once again reminded how much time Bunty spent alone. She only wished this Perry was going to come up trumps.

Wheeling her suitcase down the tidal road, Jasmine breathed in the balmy atmosphere. Samphire Bay was still basking in the summer sunshine. It was now edging towards the end of August and wouldn’t be long before autumn put in an appearance, but for now the swaying beach grasses, yellow gorse and plentiful white flowering samphire flourished. Seagulls squawked over the vastness of the sea and a salt-laden breeze filled the air.

Jasmine was looking forward to getting back to her cottage, as well as her new garden studio. She was also excited about seeing Robin again. If being truthful to herself, she’d missed his company. It was odd not having him only next door.

After a good hour’s power walking, Jasmine had crossed the tidal road and was making her way down the coastal path. She could see the cottages in the distance and wondered what Robin and Jack were doing. She marvelled at the speed they worked at, and once again thought how fortunate she’d been to have them as neighbours.

A figure came into view, appearing to be looking down the cottage gardens. Jasmine squinted to get a better look. It was a woman with long, dark hair, wearing a white linen jumpsuit. Hardly beach wear, thought Jasmine suspiciously. What was she staring at? A sharp gasp escaped her. What if she was a reporter? No, Jasmine reasoned, this woman was empty-handed, no camera, notebook or pen. She was just staring at the cottages. How strange.

To Jasmine’s horror, the woman opened her garden gate and began walking down the path. Deciding to confront her, Jasmine sped up into an awkward jog, dragging her case along the stony path. Getting closer, she saw the intruder come back out of the garden gate.

‘Can I help you?’ Jasmine called.

The woman turned, saw Jasmine coming towards her and shot off. Jasmine ran faster to try and catch up, lugging her case behind, but wasn’t fast enough. The woman was now out of sight as Jasmine bent over and panted to get her breath back. Who the hell was that?

‘Are you all right, Dad?’

‘Yes, Emma, just received this letter.’ He pointed to the piece of paper on the kitchen table.

‘Is it from the hospital?’ she asked urgently, sensing something had clearly upset him.

He shook his head. ‘No, no.’

‘Then what?’

‘Perhaps it’s better if you read it, love.’ He pulled out the chair beside him and pushed the letter across the table.

Emma sat down and tucked her chestnut fringe behind her ears to get a clear view of the letter. Her eyes quickly darted over the bold strokes of writing and the photograph enclosed. Once finished reading, she gave him a surreptitious grin.

‘Well, well, who’s Bunty, Dad?’

Perry gave his daughter a warm smile.

‘Somebody I knew long before I met your mum.’

‘An old girlfriend?’ Emma was more than interested now, sitting forward to hear all about her dad’s past. The picture of him in his younger days intrigued her.

‘Yes, love, she was.’ He nodded, his eyes holding a sadness that touched her.

‘Are you going to reply?’ she tentatively asked.

He gave a half laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Emma.’

‘Go on, Dad!’ she encouraged. ‘It’d do you good to get some company.’

He pretended to take offence.

‘I do have company,’ he said indignantly. ‘I’ve plenty of friends down the marina.’

‘Yeah, old sailors,’ she joked, then added in a serious tone. ‘Not female company, not since Mum died.’

Emma eyed her father carefully, knowing she was treading on sensitive ground, but it needed addressing.

Twelve years ago they had lost the most precious person in their lives. Valerie Scholar had been a real trooper till the bitter end, but inevitably breast cancer had claimed her life, leaving Perry a widower and stepfather to Emma, her only child. Although Perry had come into their lives when Emma was just eight years old, he had been so much more than any parent could be.

Valerie was a widow when Perry had boldly introduced himself in the museum. She’d taken Emma out on a visit to the Lancaster Maritime Museum, where Perry volunteered, and they’d clicked immediately with little Emma taking to him like a duck to water. He’d thoroughly amused Valerie and Emma with his animated tales about the history of the port of Lancaster. He persuaded them to step aboard a full-sized Lancaster Packet Boat, transporting them back to the bustle of the Lancaster canal during its glory days with a short film.

It was in the Quayside Tea Room, the museum cafe where Perry was taking his break, that Emma ran up to sit opposite him, followed by a hesitant mother.

‘Sit down, please,’ Perry had invited. After chatting pleasantly to them and learning there wasn’t a husband or father on the scene, he further invited them for a trip down the canal on his narrowboat.

From the moment Valerie and Emma had stepped aboard Perry’s boat, they had been enchanted. Emma was fascinated by the fact that he actually lived on such a thing! It wasn’t long before they were all setting sail together on weekends away. Valerie had never known such tranquillity, listening to the gentle chug of the narrowboat engine as it drifted down the still waters, dappled sunlight flickering through the trees, the whiff of smoke from the wood burner and, most of all, the cheering smile from The Captain (as they’d nicknamed Perry) safely navigating them all. Such happy, happy days.

They soon married and Perry moved into Valerie’s little cottage, aptly named Fisher’s Cottage. It was fate, they all agreed, a tight-knit little family living under the same roof.

Then five years later, when Emma was just thirteen years old, Valerie was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer. Emma had been at such an impressionable age. To be without a mother as a young teenager broke Perry’s heart and had unsurprisingly made him very protective of his stepdaughter, who he treated and loved as his own. Emma had only ever really known Perry as a father figure and in turn saw him as her one and only dad.

As the years ploughed on and Emma grew into a young woman, Perry’s protection had only increased, vetting all boyfriends she brought back with a watchful eye. He respected her space though, ever mindful of controlling parents, his past having never quite left him…

At times, in his quieter moments, he did think of Bunty, but the memories always turned sour when remembering how vindictive and domineering her father was. Hamish Deville was a selfish old man in his eyes. He’d deprived him and his daughter of any future happiness. Now, reading this letter, it looked like he’d robbed Bunty of any happiness at all in her life, the narcissistic bastard.

Emma watched Perry and the various expressions crossing his face. She sat back and scrutinised her dad. He wasn’t bad looking at all for his age, she thought, head cocked to one side. He had style, she had to admit, with his long layered grey hair and colourful shirts. The neckerchiefs he sometimes wore gave him an aged David Essex look which had him chuckling when she’d told him. No, not bad at all, Emma concluded. This Bunty would be impressed with his appearance, she was sure of it. Perry had aged well; the years had been kind. And he deserved a companion. When she wasn’t working at the bank, she was performing gigs with her band. Plus, she wouldn’t be living here in Fisher’s Cottage forever.

‘So, what about it, Dad?’

‘I’ll think about it,’ he appeased, knowing his daughter would pester him relentlessly until he gave in.

‘Samphire Bay,’ said Emma contemplatively. ‘I love it there, very atmospheric. But what’s this “big house” on the peninsula?’ she asked, quoting Bunty’s letter.

‘Where she lives. It’s an impressive place,’ Perry said, memories of the imposing home flooding his mind.

Emma took out her mobile and searched Samphire Bay. Colourful, stunning scenery flashed up before her. The huge, white art deco house soon appeared.

‘Wow! This is where Bunty lives,’ she murmured, still swiping through the images. Then, photographs of the Tea by the Sea event came on-screen. Emma clicked on the parish website they were sourced from. This time, the photographs had captions underneath, with the names of those depicted in the images. It wasn’t long before Bunty Deville’s name came up, dressed as a fortune teller. ‘Dad, look!’ Emma couldn’t help laughing at Bunty’s colourful get-up. She handed him her mobile.

‘My God,’ Perry stared at Bunty in her costume. It was her all right, he’d recognise that face anywhere, despite all the make-up. She still held an air of mischief about her with those twinkling eyes of hers. Bunty Deville, a real blast from the past.

Later that evening, when Emma had gone out with friends, Perry reached for the letter and read it again. Why had she decided to get in touch now, after all this time? And how had she known his address? It perplexed him more than worried him. She didn’t know about Val, that was clear, from the sentence, ‘I expect you’re happily married with a large family by now’ and asking if he was ‘in a position where you would like to reacquaint’. So she only had limited information about him. The whole thing had him thinking and reminiscing. He looked at the photograph of them laughing together on the beach, not a care in the world. Then, after pouring a large whiskey and downing it, picked up his pen and began to write.