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

Chapter 31

The moment Bunty hopped onboard The Merry Perry she was enthralled. Holding Perry’s hand as her feet gently landed on the deck, she was captivated. She loved everything about the narrowboat. It’s cute kitchenette, little wood burner, round windows and cosy living space. It was all so quaint, like another world waiting to whisk you away.

Sailing along the canal, Bunty relished the serenity of it all. Sat outside on the decking, she had time to appreciate all the surrounding wonderful nature and wildlife. Bunty gazed in awe at a kingfisher plunging down to catch food, the silver-backed fish, the frogs hopping in the bulrushes and the shadows on the still water. Birdsong could be heard in the nearby trees, as the sun shone through their green lush branches. It was a different way of life, for sure; one which she could easily become accustomed to. She felt good to be in a small space, comfy and secure. A far cry from rattling around in a huge house like a pea in a drum. A lot less hassle to maintain too, thought Bunty wryly.

‘There you go.’ Perry handed her a tin mug of steaming coffee, freshly brewed from the stove.

‘Ah, lovely thanks.’

He sat next to her on the cushioned seating. ‘So, you’re selling up then?’

Bunty gave a sigh. ‘Yes, it’s time.’

Perry nodded sagely, knowing how hard it must be for her.

‘The estate agent is coming in a few days.’ There was a short silence, before Bunty looked sideways at him. ‘Will you be there, when they come, as moral support?’

‘Of course I will,’ Perry replied without hesitation. He wanted to support her in any way possible, even if it meant revisiting the house where he had been made to feel so inferior. But that hadn’t been caused as much by the place as its occupant at the time, when all was said and done, he rationalised.

‘Thank you, I don’t think I could manage it all on my own,’ said Bunty in a small voice, which touched his heart.

‘Well, you’re not on your own,’ he said. ‘I’m here, at your service.’ He winked, pleased to see it draw a smile from her.

‘Where are we sailing to?’ asked Bunty blowing on her cup.

‘I thought we’d go to Carston.’

‘Carston?’ Immediately Bunty thought of Jasmine’s late husband.

‘The market town?’ Perry frowned.

‘It’s where Jasmine lived, when she and her husband had a narrowboat.’

‘Yes, I remember. Poor bloke. He was killed outside The Mariners, wasn’t he?’

‘Hmm, a hit-and-run,’ Bunty said gravely.

‘Terrible business. I believe they’ve caught his killer though, pretty recently.’

‘They have, thank God.’

When they arrived at Carston, Perry slowed the boat and gently steered it to the side bank. The throb of the engine dulled and then stopped completely. Perry helped Bunty to climb up the steps out onto the canal path. There, they walked contentedly along arm in arm and Bunty realised it had literally been years since she’d had a trip out like this. Samphire Bay was an area of outstanding natural beauty, but it was good to have a change of scenery – and company. She stole a glance at Perry. My, he was good-looking. He wore a grey silk waistcoat over a paisley patterned shirt. Bunty looked down over her blue linen trousers and stripey blue and white top, hoping she looked the part. Drawing the line at wearing a sailor’s cap, she’d wanted to create a nautical look.

‘Shall we call for a drink?’ Perry asked, pointing to a building with ‘Bridge 64 Cafe Bar’ written in the window.

‘Sure, let’s.’

Entering, Bunty scanned the place, taking in the old, wooden whiskey barrels used as tables and high stools. The cafe was airy, with a glass gable end flooding in the daylight, overlooking the marina. Perry ordered them a bottle of wine, which they shared whilst admiring the view outside.

Bunty relaxed, sipping cool white wine as any remaining tension in her evaporated. The estate agent’s appointment was bothering her. Not really looking forward to a stranger intruding in her home, she was apprehensive of any possible criticism. Although it was her pride and joy, she had begun to see the house from a prospective buyer’s eye. Fearing she would take any adverse critique personally, Bunty was mentally preparing a ‘tough skin’ – something Daddy often referred to. It helped knowing Perry would be about, and it also helped that Robin had arranged for her to view the cottage. At least there wouldn’t be any issues there, wise to the excellent workmanship of Robin and Jack. She hadn’t told Perry yet of her plans. How would he react, when he learned she was about to live in his old house?

‘Penny for them?’ Perry watched her, sensing there was something afoot.

‘I’m buying back the cottage you once rented,’ she said. He stopped mid-drink and looked at her. ‘It seems the ideal solution. I know its renovation will be first class and it’s a fantastic spot. Besides, where else is there? Property doesn’t come on the market that often in Samphire Bay.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Perry agreed. And her father made damn sure he never returned, buying the cottage he previously lived in. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.’ He raised his glass.

After finishing the bottle, they made their way into the historic market town. It was charming with its artisan shops and restaurants. They passed The Mariners pub on the high street and Bunty shivered. Quickly moving on, they called at various charity shops and a deli store where Bunty bought two sandwiches for the journey back. That was the beauty of canal boating, you could sit, eat, drink and relax whilst still travelling. She could see the appeal it held for Perry and Jasmine.

Bunty never wanted the day to end, she’d never had so much fun. Perry made a fine companion. Considering they had so much history together, very little was said about the past, though Bunty couldn’t help but detect an undercurrent concerning this. She could only assume it was resentment towards her father. As a young adult growing up, she too had seen Daddy in a different light. Perry’s absence in her life had triggered that. On the rare occasion she had challenged his attitude towards Perry, he had dismissed her nonchalantly, stating that the likes of Perry were not for his precious daughter, and did she really think he’d let his only child go to someone less worthy of her? He’d smothered her in superficial compliments in an attempt to distract her, in order to keep her to himself, she knew that now. Anger started to boil inside her. She had sacrificed far, far too much. She had acted as the dutiful daughter till the end, fetching and carrying for him like a lapdog. Today had spelt out, so starkly, just what she had missed out on. All those years she’d never get back. Well, that dominant figure in her life wasn’t here now, was he? And she was going to make bloody sure nobody would ruin her second chance with Perry.

Despite Robin’s prediction, the Sunday lunch with Jasmine and his parents was not what he had envisaged. Instead of a formal, sit-down affair with a full roast, his mum and dad were busy at the outdoor cooking station on the patio. Making the most of the last of summer, they’d decided to eat al fresco. Robin was secretly pleased, as it created a more casual atmosphere.

‘Thought we’d eat out here, whilst we still can,’ said Robin’s mum, as she came to meet them. ‘I’m Ann by the way, pleased to meet you.’ She smiled warmly and offered her hand to Jasmine.

‘Pleased to meet you too,’ Jasmine replied, shaking her hand.

‘And I’m John!’ called Robin’s dad, turning around waving a spatula. He was stood over the grill of the oven, wearing an apron with the words ‘Head Chef’ stitched across the chest.

‘Hi,’ Jasmine called back. She marvelled at the outside kitchen, all stainless steel and granite, with an oven, grills and barbeque hood. ‘I love that,’ she said, nodding her head towards the cooking station.

‘I know, it’s great,’ trilled Ann. ‘We’ve really made good use of it this summer, all thanks to our wonderful son.’ She put her hands on Robin’s shoulders.

‘ Mum ,’ Robin muttered in embarrassment.

Jasmine grinned. ‘Oh, did Robin fit it?’

‘He certainly did!’ yelled John, patently keen to be included in the conversation despite his task at hand. ‘And he made a brilliant job of it too.’

‘ Dad ,’ cringed Robin, making all three of them laugh.

‘He made a brilliant job of my kitchen too!’ Jasmine said, enjoying the banter.

All the repartee proved to be a good icebreaker. The afternoon had been pleasant and easy going, with everybody relaxed in the sunshine. It was blatantly obvious that Robin’s parents were delighted with Jasmine, especially his mum.

‘I can’t tell you how relieved we are he’s met you,’ she whispered discreetly, whilst the men were sorting out the food. She and Jasmine sat relaxing with a glass of prosecco. Ann rolled her eyes. ‘After all the trouble we had with Ellie…’

This was music to Jasmine’s ears.

‘Yes, Jack isn’t a fan of hers either,’ she said.

‘Oh Jack’s been an absolute trooper, always can rely on a chap like that. They’ve been best mates since we moved here,’ Ann told her, furthering Jasmine’s opinion of him.

Only much later on, after many more proseccos, when Ann threatened to get the baby album out, did Robin insist on leaving. Enough was enough, he thought, even though Jasmine had been clearly up for it.

‘It’s been lovely, but it’s time to go now,’ he said firmly, getting up.

His dad gave a low chuckle. ‘I think you’re right, son.’ God knew what his wife might come out with next – baby album for goodness’ sake! He looked fondly at her, chatting animatedly to Jasmine. It was a far cry from all the anxiety his son’s ex-girlfriend had given them.

On the way back to her cottage, Jasmine turned to Robin.

‘Your parents are so lovely,’ she said, feeling just a tad tipsy. She sank back into the passenger’s seat with a contented sigh.

Robin grinned, pleased with the way the afternoon had gone. Glancing at the sleepy girl beside him, he felt his parents’ approval, and a wave of exhilaration swept over him.

Bunty was anything but calm. Butterflies were flapping inside her stomach from the moment she woke up. Today was the day the estate agents were calling. Perry, as promised, had arrived early on as moral support and upon seeing how panicky she was, he’d put a reassuring arm round her.

‘Now come on, Bunty, it’ll be all right,’ he’d said in his low smooth voice.

‘Oh Perry.’ She looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’

‘You know you are, sweetheart, it’s just nerves, that’s all.’

He was right, of course. As soon as the agent rang the doorbell, Bunty slipped into her role, playing the eccentric lady who owned the big white house on the peninsula.

‘Come in, darling!’ she welcomed, throwing the front entrance door open.

‘Pleased to meet you, Ms Deville,’ said a very smart looking man.

Expecting to see a younger person, like the previous estate agents, Bunty was quite surprised at the middle-aged, pin-striped suited fellow, with a centre parting and moustache. He had a clipboard clung to his chest.

‘I’m Anthony Armstrong-James,’ he announced in a pompous voice.

Bunty’s eyes flicked sideways to Perry, who was pursing his lips.

‘Pleased to meet you too and please, call me Bunty,’ she gestured to Perry, ‘and this is Perry.’

‘How do,’ nodded Perry and offered his calloused sailor hand.

Anthony looked aghast at it, before gingerly shaking it.

‘My, what an impressive hall,’ he stated as his head tilted back to assess the high ceiling, detailed cornices and huge chandelier. He also clocked the sweeping staircase and marbled tiled floor.

‘I think you’ll find it all impressive, Anthony,’ countered Bunty, confidence fully in bloom now.

That’s my girl , thought Perry, cheering inside.

‘May I ask, how long have you lived here Ms Deville?’

‘All my life. I was born here. My mother’s family built it in the Thirties. They had such a passion for the art deco era,’ she told him wistfully.

Anthony looked genuinely transfixed. He too, despite his straitlaced exterior, had a real interest in the Arts and Crafts movement, hence his allocation to this property. Although appearing po-faced, his zeal for selling such properties as this was second to none. He was a stickler and his attention to detail was remarkable. This was evident by the many questions he asked Bunty and the notes he made.

After a full tour of the house and grounds, Anthony Armstong-James was more than satisfied.

‘I shall commence with the marketing campaign, arrange a photographer to visit and draft an advertisement for the website tomorrow. Once you have perused and approved it, Grand & Country will press full steam ahead.’ He smiled for the first time, with real gusto.

It confirmed Bunty’s choice in estate agents. This Anthony seemed to know his stuff, she thought.

‘Rest assured, Ms Deville, your home is in safe hands. Grand & Country will manage the sale of your house and ensure you get the best possible price it deserves.’

Good, thought Bunty, feeling thankful.

‘When can we arrange an open day?’ asked the agent.

Her head shot up sharply.

‘A what?’

‘An open day,’ he replied calmly. ‘A property such as this requires full exposure, an opportunity for prospective buyers to wander round and appreciate the grandeur.’

‘But they’d get that when viewing it,’ said a slightly confused Bunty.

Anthony gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘No, no, no, we need to dress the house and really showcase it,’ he said with fervour, eyes shining with enthusiasm.

‘Dress the house?’ questioned Perry, who was a little perplexed too.

‘Yes, put in extra pieces, plants, accessories, garden furniture, et cetera. I’m thinking copper moulds for the kitchen, a grand piano for the hall, a gramophone for the drawing room—’

‘I already have a gramophone,’ Bunty cut in tersely, now beginning to feel irritated and a touch defensive.

‘Excellent!’ gushed Anthony and clapped his hands.

He really was on fire for the place, Bunty admitted to herself in defeat. An open day it was then.