Читать книгу Spring at Lavender Bay - Sarah Bennett - Страница 9

‘I’m sorry, can you say that again?’ The walls of Mr Symonds’ office seemed to close in around her, and Beth tightened her grip on the bag in her lap.

The solicitor peered at her over the rims of his glasses. ‘Miss Bishop has left everything to you, Beth. The shop, the flat above and all its contents, the contents of her savings and bank accounts. Everything.’

‘But, why me? Surely there are some relations somewhere who are her proper heirs.’ She knew Eleanor had been an only child—something they’d shared in common—but she was sure there’d been mention of some distant cousins …

‘No one she’d had any contact with in a considerable period of time. Miss Bishop was of sound mind when she drew up her will, my dear, I can assure you it’s all entirely legal and above board. She put all her affairs in order last year.’ Mr Symonds removed the tortoiseshell framed glasses perched on the end of his nose and placed them on the blotter in front of him. ‘I assumed it was something she might have mentioned to you, given the closeness between the two of you. I didn’t mean to shock you like this.’

Assuming his request to meet had been to deal with a few formalities and she’d be in and out, Beth had turned down Eliza’s offer to accompany her. A decision she regretted now. She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat. ‘We hadn’t spoken much lately. Things have been very busy, and I wasn’t aware she’d been unwell.’ When the doctor had talked her through the events leading up to Eleanor’s death, he’d mentioned her suffering from angina—something her old friend had singularly failed to mention to her. Whenever she’d asked after her health, Eleanor had sworn that beyond the usual aches and pains of old age she was fit as a fiddle. And Beth had taken it at face value.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, my dear? You’ve gone quite pale.’ She nodded and the solicitor all but leapt out of his high-backed leather chair to hurry to the kettle resting on a side table. Beth turned her head to stare out of the window and across the dark brown fields. Unlike the emporium and the pub, Mr Symonds’ office was located off the seafront, facing across the rolling hills which gave the area its name. The barren soil would soon give way to green shoots, and later turn into a sea of purple in every hue from the palest lilac to a rich, imperial shade.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the lavender farm in full bloom, a heat haze shimmering over the fields carrying the heady scent of the plants on the breeze. The thing she loved about Lavender Bay more than anything was the smell of it—comforting and rich, with a unique tang from the salt air of the sea. She’d bought perfumes, oil burners, even pillow sprays back in London, but had never found anything close to matching it.

The rattle of a teaspoon against china disturbed her thoughts, and she opened her eyes to find Mr Symonds leaning over to place a cup and saucer in front of her. ‘I’ve added milk, would you like a bit of sugar, too? Might make you feel better.’

She smiled at the genuine concern on his face. Poor man must get people blubbing and wailing all the time during appointments like this. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit shocked, as you said. I … it never occurred to me for one moment that Eleanor intended me to inherit the shop, or anything else for that matter. I’m not quite sure what to do, to be honest. My life is in London.’

And what an amazing life it was. A disappointing job with a terrible boss, a single room in a rundown house in the suburbs. Such a far cry from the perfect flat, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect life she’d thought she’d had once. She was so far from her ambitions and expectations, and with no idea of how to get out of the rut. But no, they’d never been her ambitions or expectations, they’d been her mother’s.

It had taken only a few days back in the bay to underline the fact that the people she socialised with in London were little more than acquaintances. The girls from the office, a couple of her housemates. They’d go for a drink or maybe a trip to the cinema occasionally, but if she never saw them again, she wouldn’t feel the loss of their company. Not any more than they would hers, no doubt. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself, and her friends, that she was over Charlie’s betrayal, there was no denying the fact she hadn’t moved on—only moved into hiding. The only people she cared for were Ravi and Callum, and half the time she felt like she was imposing on their good natures.

Mr Symonds settled back behind his desk, then pulled open one of the drawers to rummage inside. ‘There’s a letter from Eleanor which might help to explain things. I thought you might want to read it later, when you have some privacy.’

He placed the thick cream envelope on the desk between them, his hand hesitating over it for a moment, before he withdrew and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I also feel I should let you know that I have a standing offer from an interested party regarding any property in the bay which may come up for sale.’

Beth blinked. ‘Sale?’

‘Well, yes. There’s no mortgage entailed on the premises. If you did decide to sell it, you could realise a fair amount of money. We’d have to get you a proper valuation, of course, but this party is willing to offer five percent below market value for a quick settlement. There’d be no agent’s fees to pay so you’d likely make more than if you listed it on the open market.’

Confused, Beth took a sip of her tea as she tried to sort through the fresh onslaught of information. It was hard to focus on anything other than the envelope containing Eleanor’s last words to her, but she forced herself to try. ‘Are you telling me someone has already offered to purchase the emporium?’

The solicitor steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘No, not exactly. There’s a developer chap who’s keen to invest in the bay. He left me with an instruction to advise him of any property which becomes available on the promenade. I’ve made him aware the owner of the emporium has passed away, and he asked me to table the offer. There’s no expectation, you understand, but I feel duty bound to pass this information on to you.’

And duty bound to collect the conveyancing fee on any sale, no doubt. Beth dismissed the uncharitable thought almost as soon as it arose. Mr Symonds had been nothing but kind to her since this whole terrible situation had started. As soon as he’d heard she was working on the arrangements, he’d told her the expenses would be covered by a funeral plan Eleanor had taken out, which had been a great relief. ‘Can I have a little bit of time to think about things?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk again, this time retrieving a business card. ‘Give me a call next week.’

The promenade lay in the opposite direction to the train station, but Beth found herself moving on autopilot until she wound up standing opposite the emporium. The duck-egg blue signage board above the window was faded and flaking, with several of the gold embossed letters missing. Dirt obscured the bottom half of the plate glass and what stock she could see through the occluded window looked dusty and neglected. A pile of post lay scattered across the floor behind the door. Pressing her nose closer to the window, she could see past the dirt and cobwebs to a happier time.

She remembered standing in the shop just after her mother left for Florida, excitedly tearing the paper away from an enormous package Eleanor had presented her with. ‘What on earth is it?’

Eleanor, resplendent in one of the bright floral dresses she favoured and the ever-present rope of pearls at her throat, smiled at the younger Beth. ‘As soon as I saw it at the auction house, I simply had to have it.’

Beth smiled as she continued to unwrap the item. A flash of yellow, something darker nearer the top. She tapped her knuckles against it. Whatever it was, it was made of wood. After tearing free the last shreds of paper, she stepped back, mouth rounded in surprise. ‘It’s …’ There were no words to describe what her eyes were showing her. Six feet tall if it was an inch, a giant banana curved from a square base, the ugliest carved monkey she’d ever seen clinging to the top of it. No, there were no words. None that she could say without hurting Eleanor’s feelings at least. ‘It’s … unique.’

‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Eleanor clapped her hands together. ‘We can stand it just inside the door, use it to display things.’

A woman’s shrill voice interrupted her thoughts, dragging Beth back to the present. ‘I hope they’ll finally do something with this place.’ The prim comment came from somewhere behind Beth.

Resentful of the intrusion, she turned to glare at the speaker. A middle-aged woman with an unfortunate perm and too much foundation smiled back at her. The scarf at her throat looked expensive, as did the camel-coloured wool coat she wore over a drab, calf-length skirt and sensible, heeled boots. She didn’t know the woman, but thought she recognised her from the church the previous day.

There was still enough of the lessons in good behaviour drilled into her by Eleanor remaining that Beth forced herself to speak, though conversation was the last thing she wanted. ‘Excuse me?’

Adjusting the handle of the leather handbag looped over her forearm, the woman nodded at the emporium. ‘I was just saying, I hope the new owners, whoever they are, do something about this place. Poor Eleanor, we all know she tried, but she was quite past it in the end. The place is an eyesore and really not in keeping with the tone we’re aiming for.’

So much unpleasantness delivered with a pearly-white smile and a demure cock of the head. Beth barely knew where to start. ‘And who is “we” exactly?’

‘Oh, the Lavender Bay Improvement Society, of course. I’m Hester Bradshaw, chairwoman and founder.’ She held out a hand tipped with neat, short nails painted in some neutral tone.

Beth stared at it, fighting the automatic response to shake hands. She wanted nothing to do with this woman, or her acid tongue. ‘I wasn’t aware the bay was in need of improvement. Excuse me, I have a train to catch.’

Undeterred, Hester settled into step beside her. ‘Oh yes, the Major and I noticed when we moved here that things had been let go a bit. It’s such a lovely part of the coast, and it benefits the whole community if we can improve the calibre of the visitors coming here.’

So, it was as she’d suspected. Mrs Bradshaw was a recent transplant to the bay. As Eleanor had been want to observe, it was always the incomers who wanted to change things. They only saw coastal towns and villages at their best, during the height of the summer season, and formed a romanticised ideal of life there. Once they made the move, they suddenly began to notice the peeling paint, the air of shabbiness brought on by slow years of decline and lack of investment. The residents of Lavender Bay had always maintained a sense of pride in their town, but it was almost impossible to compete with the all-inclusive cheap resorts on the continent that came with a lower cost of living and almost guaranteed sunshine.

Reaching the end of the promenade, Beth took a sharp turn to the left, increasing her pace as the street began to climb upwards. With any luck, she could outpace her unwanted companion. Those boots of hers must’ve hidden a sturdy pair of calves, because Mrs Bradshaw continued to match her stride for stride. ‘You know the area, do you?’

‘Yes.’ Goodness, if Eleanor could hear her, she’d be in trouble.

Impervious to her monosyllabic response, Mrs Bradshaw continued to prattle. ‘I haven’t seen you around the bay, and I like to think I know most people. I must say I was surprised to find a stranger so involved with the arrangements for Eleanor’s funeral. The flowers weren’t what I would have chosen, but you young people have such different ideas.’

Parking her wheeled suitcase, Beth forced a smile so false it made her mouth ache. ‘Yellow roses were Eleanor’s favourite which is why I chose them. She bought a bunch every week to decorate our kitchen table.’

Mrs Bradshaw blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. ‘Well. I hadn’t realised that. The two of you were close then?’

Suddenly overwhelmed with the memory of a smiling Eleanor pulling a roast chicken out of the oven, Beth squeezed her eyes tight against a threatening flood of tears. When she could trust herself to speak, she opened them to find a look of sympathy on the other woman’s face. She likely hadn’t meant any harm, was probably one of those people who spoke without thinking through the consequences.

Beth owed her nothing, but knew Eleanor had valued kindness above all things. ‘She practically raised me. Although I’d moved away, we were still very close.’

Mrs Bradshaw shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. As the Major says, I’m inclined to let my tongue run away from me. I meant no offence.’

‘It’s all right. I hadn’t noticed how the emporium had deteriorated. Hopefully, I can do something about that.’ Though what she might do, she had no idea. Selling the place would be the wisest option, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about it.

Taking her leave of a chastened Mrs Bradshaw, Beth made it past the smiling greeting of the guard at the ticket barrier and into a corner seat of the waiting train, before collapsing into a flurry of choked sobs. ‘Oh, Eleanor.’

Agreeing to rush back to work had been a huge mistake, but the pressure from Darren had been unbearable, not to mention shaded with hints he’d have to reconsider his support for her application for a supervisory position. Gritty-eyed, she avoided the concern radiating from Ravi on the other side of the partition and tried to focus on the screen in front of her. The lines of text wavered so she clenched her fist beneath her desk until the pain from her nails digging into her palm distracted her from the need to cry.

Turning her attention back to the matter in hand, she worked her way through the trail of emails that had been flying back and forth. The clients had liked the presentation and returned with a long list of detailed questions about the proposed contract. A flicker of hope kindled in her stomach; they wouldn’t have bothered to probe so deeply into the deal unless they were very interested. There was a lot of dross in the emails, but also some pertinent information for the response piece.

Scrolling back to the latest message, Beth highlighted all the text and dumped everything into a blank word document. The hubbub of conversations, ringing phones and the ever-present tap-tap of fingers on keyboards melted into the background as she began to work her way through, deleting the superfluous headers and footers, highlighting sections of text she thought she might need and annotating comments with the name of the contributor to ensure she didn’t lose track. Warming to the task, she reached for her headphones and plugged them into her phone, clicking on a familiar playlist she knew by heart which would melt into the background.

Once she felt sufficiently caught up, she moved on to the draft response document Darren had tasked another member of their team to prepare. Scanning the first few paragraphs, Beth assumed she’d opened an early version of the file and stopped to double check their shared drive. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she tugged loose one of her earbuds and reached for the phone. ‘Marco? I’m trying to find the latest version of the Sampson response doc.’

‘Hello to you too, Beth.’ She rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the snippiness in his voice. Marco had been with them only a few months, but was already Darren’s blue-eyed boy. What he lacked in work ethic and ability, he more than made up for in sycophantic crawling. He deferred to Darren in everything and was one of his regular drinking buddies.

‘Sorry, Marco. It’s been a rough couple of days, you know.’

He sniffed. ‘Yes, I do bloody know. You left us right in the shit when you buggered off without a word.’

‘A very good friend of mine died, it’s not like I was on holiday.’ Beth swallowed the urge to snap further, terrified she’d break down and start crying again. ‘If you could just confirm which version I should be working on, please.’

Marco sighed like she was asking him to sacrifice his first born. ‘It’s in the J: drive, version 1.3. Darren and I have put a lot of effort into it, so it shouldn’t need much work, just the last couple of responses which came through overnight.’

Beth stared at the file extension name on the document in front of her. Shit. She would be better off starting from scratch, because there was no way she could do anything with the incoherent crap they’d cobbled together. ‘Okay, thanks. Just remind me when this needs to go up to the director.’ Crossing her fingers, she prayed she had at least another full day to fix the mess.

‘It went up to Bruce earlier today. Like I said, it only needs a bit of tarting up.’

Beth swallowed a laugh at the way Marco dropped the name of the director of key accounts. As if he’d call him anything other than Mr Turner to his face, pompous git. The implication of his words sank in. The nonsense on her screen had been submitted to the director … She choked at the very idea.

Undeterred by her coughing, Marco continued to speak. ‘Darren was well impressed with the amount of work I’ve put into it, so I used a bit of initiative.’ Good God, he actually sounded pleased with himself. Wondering if it was worth putting a call into the director’s office to try and intercept the email, she almost missed Marco’s next boastful words. ‘Between us, the boss has given me the head’s up that the supervisor’s job is as good as mine.’

Her vision narrowed as a strange roaring filled her ears. All that work she’d put in, all the late nights and weekends and for what? To be usurped by some useless idiot who knew how to suck up? Knowing she’d been silent too long, she forced herself to speak. ‘Well, I guess I should offer you my congratulations.’

‘Cheers, Beth. Don’t worry, I won’t make you call me Mr Travelli when you’re reporting to me.’ The nasty edge to his laugh made her stomach flutter, but thankfully he hung up before she had to respond further.

She replaced the receiver, picked it up again and dialled the first three digits of the extension for Nadia, Mr Turner’s PA, before stopping. Why was she even bothering? She could make some excuse about the wrong file being sent, spend the rest of the afternoon trying to turn the rubbish in front of her into something halfway decent and get exactly zero bloody credit for it. Anger bubbled in her gut. After everything she’d done, this was how Darren repaid her loyalty? She stood so quickly her chair rolled back, causing the wheels to bang against the filing cabinet behind her desk.

‘Everything all right, Beth?’

Turning to meet Ravi’s concerned gaze, she shook her head. ‘Not really, Rav. I need some fresh air.’ Beth hurried over to retrieve her coat from the rack before he could press her for more details.

‘Come on, come on …’ Tapping her foot, she waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. Needing to keep moving, she was on the verge of abandoning her wait in favour of the fire escape beside it when the indicator bell dinged. The doors slid open, enveloping her in a waft of beer fumes and ribald laughter.

A man stepped backwards through the doors, intent on his conversation with the rest of the lift occupants and Beth was forced to side-step to avoid being banged into. She recognised the slicked-back hair, the dark suit with gangster-wide white stripes and her stomach lurched. ‘Yeah, yeah, mate, I’m sure she said that.’ His sarcastic drawl was greeted by another howl of laughter.

Beth reached for the handle for the stairwell door and had it halfway open when he spotted her. ‘Hey, Beth. You finally decided to grace us with your presence then?’

Shoving a hand in her pocket, her fingers brushed against the crisp rectangle of the envelope containing Eleanor’s letter. ‘I need some fresh air.’ She threw the comment back over her shoulder and took a step into the stairwell.

Darren barged his way through the door, his voice echoing loudly off the concrete walls. ‘You must be joking, you can’t have been at your desk more than five minutes. Bruce wants a copy of the response document ready for him to review tonight.’

Grabbing the handrail with her free hand, Beth backed down another couple of risers, wanting to put some distance between herself and the whole bloody mess. ‘But Marco’s already sent him a copy of the draft …’

Her team leader’s face drained to an unpleasant shade she could only equate to the colour of lard. ‘He did what?’

Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but I’m sure that’s what he just told me.’

‘Christ!’ Darren spun on his heel, holding the door wide as he did so. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get this sorted out.’

A strange sense of calm settled over her as Beth stood her ground. ‘Did you promise Marco the supervisor’s position?’

Her boss glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t got time for that now, we need to get this cock-up sorted out before Bruce sees that draft.’ His lack of denial told her everything she needed to know. Stroking the edge of the envelope in her pocket, Beth took a deep breath as the full significance of her conversation with Mr Symonds sank into her exhausted brain. She had choices; options.

Freedom.

Releasing the handrail, she trotted back up the stairs to a visible smile of relief from Darren. ‘Good girl. Go and grab your laptop and meet me in my office. I’ll try and head Bruce off at the pass.’

Beth watched him jog towards the tiny walled-off space in the corner before returning to her desk. She undocked the laptop, flicked off the monitor and tugged open her top drawer. A jumble of Cup-a-Soups, pens and sticky notes stared back at her and she slid it closed again then bent to collect her handbag. She’d come straight from the station, so her suitcase stood next to the window. Bag over her shoulder, laptop under her arm and the handle of her case in the opposite hand, she smiled across the partition at Ravi. ‘I’ll call you later.’

‘Ooo-kay. You sure you’re all right, mate?’

‘Never better, I promise.’

Conscious of the stares following her, Beth marched towards Darren’s office. Leaving her case outside, she approached his desk to dump her laptop on a pile of folders. She unhooked the ID card from around her neck and let the lanyard slither through her fingers.

‘I’ve managed to intercept Marco’s email, though I owe Janice a large G&T.’ He glanced up from his screen. ‘Well, pull up a chair then.’

‘No.’

It took a few seconds for her refusal to register, and Beth could actually see the moment it dawned upon him. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said no. Nope. Pass. Uh-uh. Forget it. Not happening.’ She couldn’t stop the flush of heat surging over her skin, but she held her head high.

Darren rocked back in his chair, a flinty hardness settling in his eyes. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

‘Working my arse off for an idiot like you for the past two years in the futile hope I’d one day earn a fraction of the respect you dish out to your drinking buddies and sycophants? Oh yes, it’s a huge joke. A bloody laugh riot, and all at my expense. Well, no more. I quit.’

There was burning bridges, and there was dumping a gallon of petrol and aiming a flamethrower at it. Throwing up on his desk would only spoil the dramatic effect of her announcement so she gulped hard against the wave of panicked nausea.

His shiny face turned so red, she wondered for a moment if his head might pop under the pressure building beneath the skin. ‘You can’t fucking quit. If you take one step towards that door, I’ll sack you.’

The panic melted away and, smiling, she took a deliberate pace backwards. ‘Perfect. At least now I won’t have to serve my notice. See ya.’

She made it across the office, the echoes of Darren’s ineffectual bellowing ringing in her ears, down in the lift, across the lobby and halfway down the street before the first tear dripped hot upon her cheek.