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

Chapter 33

The sun very kindly put in the first appearance on the open day, much to Bunty’s joy, which was nothing compared to Anthony Armstrong-James’. He arrived in splendour, followed by a convoy of vans transporting all the ‘extra pieces’. Bunty was on the balcony, getting a bird’s-eye view. Her jaw dropped at seeing the whole entourage park up on the gravel driveway. Her face creased into a smile as Anthony shot out of his Aston Martin to give directions to the team awaiting instruction.

He was looking extremely dapper, wearing a striped boating blazer and cream trousers. The clipboard was out in good use, and his head bobbed up and down as he consulted his notes. He was pointing to the side garden and talking vivaciously to a group of men unloading a vintage rose bistro set. Anthony then scurried to another van where three young girls dressed in black and white maid uniforms carried various boxes. Good grief, thought Bunty, he’s actually got staff to act the part! Putting her cup of coffee on the glass table, she rushed down to meet them all. Out of breath, she flung open the doors dramatically.

‘Good morning!’ she called out.

Anthony turned and practically ran to her. Gone was the pompous, priggish agent from the first visit, this was an invigorated, excited Anthony, totally in his element.

‘What a splendid day for it!’ he chirped, arms raised to the cloudless sky. Then a gruff voice shouted out.

‘Where’s this going, Anthony?’

Two men stood at a grand piano, waiting to hoist it on a wheeled platform.

‘Careful now, this way.’ Anthony’s hands waved them forward. ‘We need a ramp for these steps.’ He pointed to the front entrance.

Bunty’s eyes widened at the beautiful French polished piano and stood back to make way. It took time and effort to get it in place, but it looked the part perfectly standing in the hall.

Then in came the maids. Bunty noticed the copper moulds for the kitchen in the boxes and saw a set of antique balance scales. One box remained closed.

‘What’s in that one?’ she asked the girl holding it.

‘Old cookery books,’ she grinned. ‘Mrs Beeton, eat your heart out.’

Bunty laughed.

‘My, my, he thinks of everything, doesn’t he?’ she said, tipping her head towards Anthony, who was by now overseeing a young man wheeling a variety of plants in a trolley. Huge ferns, aspidistras and parlour maples were being transported to the drawing room.

‘I’ll need the copper planters and the wooden plant stands,’ he was telling the rather harassed looking boy.

‘What about the stone urn?’ he asked, wiping his forehead.

‘Outside and I want it overflowing with that false ivy,’ replied Anthony, his hands in a circling motion, emphasising the ‘overflow’.

Bunty was mesmerised. It was like being on set for a period drama. Her eyes darted from one place to the next.

‘This lot going in the cellar?’ asked a sturdy man holding an enormous hamper of wine.

‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ Bunty said, ‘seeing how it’s not been in use for years, apart from maybe by the odd mouse.’

On hearing this Anthony shuddered.

‘No, don’t open the cellar. Display it in the kitchen.’ The last thing he needed was any rodent making an entrance and ruining his day.

Bunty read the labels on the bottles and gasped.

‘They’re empty,’ Anthony whispered with a nudge. ‘Purely props. I get them out for most of the open days.’

Bunty chuckled and shook her head. Then in came two ladies each carrying a Tiffany lamp.

‘Upstairs, in the master bedroom,’ ordered Anthony.

Bunty was slightly alarmed at having her bedroom invaded but she forced herself to take a step back from the proceedings.

‘Do try to distance yourself, my dear,’ Anthony gently told her. ‘Think of this as a showcase for the day, not your home.’

He was right, of course. She wanted to sell the house, after all, and that required strangers coming into her space. At that precise moment, Perry appeared and just seeing him put her at ease.

‘The place is a circus!’ he laughed.

‘Tell me about it,’ Bunty said dryly.

‘Where. Is. The. Pianist?’ Anthony demanded gripping his phone to his ear, showing the whites of his knuckles. ‘What?’ he rasped in outrage. ‘This is a disaster !’ He hung up abruptly.

‘Everything all right, Anthony?’ Bunty asked as he closed his eyes in frustration.

‘No. The pianist has had to cancel,’ he replied in despair. ‘The stupid oaf has fallen and fractured his wrist. How inconsiderate!’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise the piano was actually going to be used. I thought it was just for decoration,’ said Bunty.

‘Both,’ said Anthony. ‘The idea was to set the scene, by hearing the tickle of ivories as the guests entered.’

Perry disguised his bark of laughter with a cough. Where was Emma when he needed her? She could play the keyboard. Thinking it would be a good opportunity for her to meet Bunty and see the house she was so desperate to step inside, he cleared his throat again.

‘Er… I might be able to help there,’ he spoke up, causing Anthony and Bunty to stare at him. ‘My daughter, Emma, can play.’

‘Can she really?’ smiled Bunty.

‘Well, yes, but probably not to the standard of a hired professional,’ he warned.

‘Hmph, not very professional cancelling at the eleventh hour,’ said Anthony tartly. ‘I suppose she’ll do,’ he continued rather ungraciously, ‘any port in a storm.’

Bunty and Perry exchanged looks.

‘Should I ask her?’ Perry’s eyebrow raised. ‘I know she’d love to see the place.’

‘Of course, she should have come with you in any event,’ insisted Bunty.

‘Thank the Lord, crisis over!’ Anthony exclaimed, then checked his watch and scampered down to the kitchen to inspect everything there. ‘One hour until blast off!’ he yelled to everyone as he sped by.

Bunty and Perry exchanged another look and burst into giggles.

Exactly one hour later, peace reigned. It was a miracle how every single item had been strategically put into place. The house looked truly amazing, inside and out. The lawn was decorated with vintage garden furniture and colourful blooms in terracotta pots. The kitchen was cleverly styled to look like a 1930s working kitchen, with its era-appropriate props. The gramophone was quietly playing in the background in the drawing room and the mirrored drinks cabinet was opened to display the elegant cocktail glasses. The bedrooms had been de-cluttered, with silk throws placed neatly on the beds (Anthony had been disappointed not to have got his hands on a four-poster). However, the pièce de résistance, was the hallway. Not only had Emma saved the day, but, at Anthony’s request, had dressed the part. She wore Bunty’s mother’s gold beaded dress, complete with the crystal chain headpiece.

After a hasty but heartfelt introduction to each other, Emma showed Bunty the music sheets she’d brought with her.

‘Just something light and tinkly,’ Bunty said, smiling. ‘And thank you so much for doing this, Emma.’ She gave her a quick squeeze.

‘My pleasure.’ Emma’s eyes shone with glee, she was loving being a part of it all.

The vans and all the team fetching and carrying had left. Anthony gathered the girls in the maid uniforms who were at the ready to circulate with champagne glasses on silver trays. They’d been given strict instructions not to let anyone have more than one. They may be visitors, but they were first and foremost potential buyers and needed a clear head, Anthony had advised.

‘And remember, pay attention, girls, eyes and ears open. Listen out and direct me to those sounding the most interested.’

As the clock chimed, Anthony gave the signal and the doors opened.