Dirty Dancing at the Picture House By The Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  Praise for the Star and Sixpence series:

  ‘A fresh new voice, brings wit and warmth to this charming tale of two sisters’ Rowan Coleman

  ‘You’ll fall in love with this fantastic new series from a new star of women’s fiction, Holly Hepburn. Filled to the brim with captivating characters and fantastic storylines in a gorgeous setting, Snowdrops at the Star and Sixpence is simply wonderful. I want to read more!’ Miranda Dickinson

  ‘The Star and Sixpence sparkles with fun, romance, mystery, and a hunky blacksmith. It’s a real delight’ Julie Cohen

  ‘Like the dream pub landlady who always knows exactly what you want, Holly Hepburn has created the most delightful welcome to what promises to be a brilliant series, in the first Star and Sixpence. The sisters who inherit a tired local and must bring it back to life are warm and intriguing, the neighbours are (mostly!) friendly and the gossip is utterly addictive. I was very sad when it was time for last orders, and am already looking forward to the next round. Especially if a certain blacksmith happens to be at the bar...’ Kate Harrison

  ‘Warm, witty and utterly charming, Snowdrops at the Star and Sixpence is the perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter’s day. It left me with the most wonderful happy glow’ Cally Taylor

  ‘Warm, witty and laced with intriguing secrets! I want to pull up a bar stool, order a large G&T and soak up all the gossip at the Star and Sixpence!’ Cathy Bramley

  ‘A super sparkling star of a story and I can’t wait for part two’ Alexandra Brown

  Chapter One

  ‘You look like you need a drink.’

  Gina Callaway lowered the sanding block she’d been using on the fresh plaster of the Palace foyer wall and turned to face Manda Vickery, who was holding out a steaming mug of tea. Lowering her dust mask, Gina dredged up a grateful smile.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, passing a weary hand across her forehead. ‘Although to be honest, I could do with something stronger.’

  She glanced around as she spoke, taking in the protective sheets that spilled across the floor and shrouded everything from the ticket desk to the bar in snowy whiteness. Beams of sunlight snuck around the edges of the paper-covered glass front doors, revealing a million dancing dust motes and reminding Gina all over again just how much there was left to do before the grand re-opening in the middle of June. Despite the reassurances of master builder and renovation expert Ben Pascoe, she couldn’t see how they’d be ready, not in four weeks’ time. Perhaps if the ceiling hadn’t collapsed in the men’s toilets just as the new light fittings were going in, and perhaps if the floor in the ladies hadn’t turned out to be riddled with woodworm… but they were just a few of the unexpected hiccups that meant the restoration project was already falling behind schedule. Maybe she ought to talk to the owner, Gorran Dew, about postponing the re-opening to the end of June.

  Manda gave Gina a sympathetic look. ‘The best I can offer you is one of your grandfather’s gelatos,’ she said, glancing over at the Ferrelli’s ice-cream concession where she worked. Usually, the interior window was open, to allow cinema-goers to treat themselves during a screening but it had been sealed off for the duration of the refurbishment, leaving only the outside window open for business. ‘Maybe you could whip up a gin and tonic flavour next time you’re in the dairy,’ she suggested.

  Gina couldn’t imagine Nonno going for that idea. Ferdie Ferrelli was fiercely protective of the time-honoured gelato recipes he sold through the concession stand at the Palace. A broken leg had forced him into reluctantly allowing Gina to help him keep on top of his client orders but it had been an uphill battle at the start. Since then, Gina and her nonna, Elena, had been chipping away at his resistance and gradually, they’d made some progress; Ferrelli’s now offered several new and exciting flavours which had proved very popular with its customers. But Gina knew better than to suggest anything too experimental to Ferdie. Nonna, on the other hand, would be very much in favour of a gin and tonic gelato…

  ‘I think I’ll stick to drinking one later,’ she told Manda wryly. ‘Safest all round.’

  ‘I made a cuppa for Ben too,’ Manda said. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘I think I saw him heading into the screening room,’ Gina replied. ‘He plans to start ripping down the plasterboard in there today.’

  Manda’s eyes widened and Gina knew she was hoping they would find all the original Art Deco gilt decoration preserved behind the ugly woodchip-covered fake walls. But there was just as much chance that all they would find was damp and depressingly bare plaster.

  ‘He’s probably in need of something stronger as well, then,’ Manda observed, offering the second mug to Gina. She glanced over her shoulder as though she expected the cinema owner, Gorran Dew, to be eavesdropping and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t suppose you carry a hip flask, do you? It’s past midday.’

  Gina laughed. ‘Unfortunately not. But I’m sure tea will do.’

  Dropping the sanding block onto a nearby work table, she took the tea from Manda and went in search of Ben. She found him exactly where she’d expected, standing beside one of the side walls of the vast screening room that was at the heart of the picture house, surveying the scaffolding with a crowbar in one hand. The radio was babbling in the background but Ben was deep in conversation with one of the contractors he’d hired to help with the restoration project.

  Both men looked up as Gina approached and she was amused to see Ben’s blond hair, usually sun-kissed from hours spent surfing the Cornish waves, was almost white with dust. It contrasted with his golden tan and lent him an almost distinguished air, giving Gina a sudden glimpse of how he might look in twenty years’ time. Then she realised that her own black hair was probably streaked with dust too. She doubted she wore it as well as Ben.

  ‘Tea,’ she said, offering the second mug to Ben. ‘Sorry, Davey, I don’t have one for you. Give me a minute and I’ll find a cup for you.’

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ Ben said, taking a swig of tea and swallowing fast. He drained the mug in two gulps and handed it back to Gina with a swift smile of thanks. ‘We were just about to make a start on removing the plasterboard, if you fancy watching? It can be quite dramatic, although the woodchip will make things harder – it’s had a few coats of paint over the years, which will give it staying power.’

  Gina gazed past the scaffolding to the tired-looking walls beyond, noticing several holes already; they must have been exploring what lay behind the glossy woodchip. Dust floated in the air, just as it had in the foyer, making Gina wonder where to stand to avoid yet another coating. She glanced around. The velvet curtains that had previously draped the edges of the projection screen were long gone, as were the aged tiers of seats that had seen much better days. The room felt cavernous and Gina’s voice echoed when she spoke. ‘Sure. I’ll keep out of the way.’

  Ben handed her a dust mask. ‘Good idea. Who knows what’s going to fall out when we pull this down.’

  ‘As long as it isn’t a skeleton,’ she said, mock-shuddering.

  He grinned. ‘You’ve been watching too many movies. Besides, a skeleton is too obvious – my money is on a basilisk.’

  Gina backed away. ‘Whatever. I’ll stand over here, just in case.’

  She half-listened as Ben and Davey discussed the best place to begin prying the plasterboard away, momentarily distracted when she heard the radio was playing The Time of My Life. Gina swayed slightly as she waited, smiling as she remembered one of her favourite scenes in Crazy, Stupid Love where Ryan Gosling used the song to seduce Emma Stone. And the original scene in Dirty Dancing had been pretty memorable too.

  Clearly
reaching an agreement with Davey, Ben walked to a hole at the furthest end of the wall, the one nearest to where the projection screen had previously hung, and ducked his head under the scaffolding to dig his crowbar into the woodchip. A low creak sounded as he applied pressure and Gina saw the paint start to crack as the woodchip splintered and plasterboard underneath buckled. Ben pressed harder, frowning in concentration, and Gina was suddenly glad she was some distance away. Ben was a keen surfer in his spare time, so between that and his work as a builder, his muscles were in good shape. It had been all Gina could do not to stare the last time she’d seen him with his shirt off – like Emma Stone in the film, she’d wondered briefly whether the abs before her had been Photoshopped – and although Ben was appropriately dressed now, she could see his biceps working under the thin material. A bit of distance was undoubtedly a very good thing when Gina was trying hard to remember that he was an old friend and business partner, nothing more.

  ‘It’s starting to give,’ Ben called to Davey, who came and placed his own crowbar a little higher up the wall. Together they heaved, and with a crack that sounded like a starting pistol, the plasterboard came away. The painted woodchip fractured, revealing a thin wooden support strut underneath as the large chunk fell from the wall, hitting the floor in a cloud of dust.

  Once the first breach had been made, more soon followed. Ben climbed to the top of the scaffolding and began work near the ceiling; Davey mirrored him at the other end of the wall. Gina almost held her breath as he pried the plaster away: this was where the majority of the gilt-work would be, if it was still there. Had it survived the previous refurbishment, she wondered. The object of the plasterboard seemed to have been to remove all the character and original features from the picture house, something she’d never understood. It would be a terrible shame if all they found beneath it were bare walls…

  Ben and Davey worked as fast as the woodchip allowed, dropping clumps of discarded plasterboard to the floor. More and more of the wooden battens were revealed and the air grew thick with dust. Gina pulled on the mask Ben had given her and tried not to imagine how she must look. Then Ben lowered his crowbar and peered more closely at the wall.

  ‘What is it?’ Gina called, anxiety creeping through the pit of her stomach. Please don’t let it be bones, she thought.

  Ben reached into the tool pouch fastened around his waist and pulled out a torch. He shone it behind the plasterboard for several long seconds, then turned around and pulled the mask from his face. ‘Bingo,’ he called, with a grin.

  ‘Really?’ Gina felt her own mouth curve into an answering smile. ‘It’s still there?’

  He nodded. ‘This bit is.’

  ‘Over here too,’ Davey said over one shoulder. ‘Looks to be in pretty mint condition. Maybe the plasterboard has done us a favour.’

  ‘Wonders will never cease,’ Ben said with an incredulous laugh. ‘I think this is the first time I’ve ever been grateful for a shoddy building job.’

  Gina’s smile widened into a deep grin. It was exactly what they’d hoped for. ‘Gorran is going to be so pleased,’ she said, removing her own mask. ‘Any idea how long it will be before we can see it all in its original glory?’

  The two men exchanged a thoughtful look. ‘Another couple of days at least,’ Ben ventured. ‘Or maybe longer.’

  ‘And that’s just the start,’ Davey added. ‘Once all the plasterboard is off, we’ll be able to see how those wooden battens have been attached – that could cause us some problems. And then there’s the clean-up operation – the gypsum dust from the plasterboard is always a right pain to shift.’

  Ben nodded. ‘True,’ he said, aiming a rueful glance at the debris that covered the floor. ‘And I’ll tell you something else – we’re going to need a bigger skip.’

  *

  By the end of the day, Gina ached all over. She wanted nothing more than to lower herself into a hot bath and soak away the hard work of the day but she and Ben were due to meet Gorran at six o’clock in the Mermaid’s Tail Inn for a catch-up. A glance in the mirror of the newly refurbished ladies confirmed her worst suspicions; she looked like Miss Havisham. Shaking plaster dust from her long hair, Gina splashed water over her arms and face and pulled on a clean T-shirt. Gorran wasn’t exactly a snappy dresser and Ben would be even dustier than Gina; she doubted either of them would judge her, and the customers of the pub would barely bat an eyelid either. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d seen her like this and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  ‘Ready?’ Ben called as Gina made her way back into the picture house foyer.

  ‘I suppose,’ she replied. ‘I think I ate some plaster dust, though.’

  He smiled. ‘I can imagine. But you can’t restore an Art Deco cinema without sanding some walls so…’

  Gina sighed. When she’d come up with the idea to apply for funding to return the Palace to its glory days, she hadn’t envisaged being quite so hands-on with the actual building work. It was different for Ben – he liked nothing better than getting his hands dirty in a job that seemed too big to handle. Gina, on the other hand, was an event organiser moonlighting as a maker of ice-cream, with an unexpected side line in project management. Even so, she could totally see why Ben had the bug for restoring old buildings; there was still a long way to go but underneath the mess, the Palace was slowly starting to take shape. And Gina had a feeling that it was going to shine even more brightly than it had in its heyday. The events she’d organised not long after returning to Polwhipple – screenings of classic films with bespoke cocktails and an invitation to dress up – had been hugely successful and there was a real warmth of feeling towards the cinema among the residents of the sleepy seaside town. Gina felt certain the Palace would be more popular than ever once the building work was complete.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to Ben. ‘I don’t know about you but I need gin.’

  The evening was warm and the sun sparkled on the tide as it ebbed and flowed against the golden sand of the beach. The Mermaid’s Tail Inn sat nestled on the promenade, facing out towards the Atlantic only a few doors down from the cinema. An auburn-haired mermaid gazed benevolently down from the sign as Gina and Ben cut through the seafront beer garden and ducked inside. The bar was fairly quiet – hardly surprising this early on a Thursday evening – but one or two regulars nodded in greeting as Gina and Ben entered the low-ceilinged snug. The owner, Jory, had two glasses in his hands long before they reached the dark wood bar. ‘The usual?’

  Gina gave Ben a wry look; clearly they were spending too much time in the pub if Jory knew exactly what they would order. She nodded at Jory saying, ‘Bombay Sapphire and tonic for me, please.’

  ‘And I’ll have a pint of Spotty Dog, please,’ Ben said, his eyes resting on the cider pump. ‘Is Gorran here yet?’

  ‘Over by the window,’ Jory said, as he turned to the bottles that lined the mirrored wall behind him. ‘Got a face like a teasy tacker an’ all. Best go easy there, I reckon.’

  For the most part, Gina could work out Jory’s frequent use of Cornish slang but this time she was defeated. Teasy meant bad-tempered, she knew, but tacker? A horse, maybe? She peered across to the window, where Gorran was staring morosely down at a half-empty pint glass; he certainly seemed long-faced.

  ‘He means a grumpy toddler,’ Ben whispered, seeing Gina studying the cinema owner. ‘Which isn’t like Gorran at all.’

  He was right, Gina thought. Gorran was disorganised and flighty, and often drove her mad with his teetering piles of paperwork and his unfounded optimism that the cinema-goers of Polwhipple would grow to love obscure foreign language films in time, but he was generally affable and never moody. Something must have happened.

  ‘All right, Gorran?’ Ben said, as they approached the table.

  The older man looked up, blinking owlishly, and Gina noticed that above the crumpled collar of his checked shirt, his shock of white hair was even wilder thanusual. ‘Oh,’ he said in a subdued tone. ‘Hello
. How are things?’

  ‘Not at all bad,’ Gina said, as she and Ben sat down. ‘In fact, we’ve got some great news – the original gilt-work is still in place behind the plasterboard in the theatre.’

  She waited for Gorran’s enthusiastic response but instead of a warm smile, he simply gave a preoccupied nod. ‘That is good news.’

  Ben leaned forwards. ‘And there doesn’t seem to be much damage so far – nothing that a touch up here and there won’t fix.’

  Again, Gorran nodded. ‘Good, good.’

  Gina felt a small frown crease her forehead as her own enthusiasm began to fade. ‘You don’t seem very excited. Is everything okay?’

  The older man stared into his glass. ‘No, it’s all fine,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s just…I mean there’s nothing for you to worry about, anyway.’

  ‘Gorran?’ Ben said. ‘What’s going on?’

  For a moment, Gina thought he would ignore the question. But then he sighed and met their curious gazes. ‘I’ve got a few financial issues, that’s all. The Palace has been closed for a good few weeks now and that means it’s not bringing in much money, apart from the rent Ferdie pays for Ferrelli’s. But I’ve still got the same overheads – I still have to pay Tash and Bruno, even though they’re not working, and the concession income isn’t enough.’ He paused. ‘Like I said, nothing for you to worry about. I’m sure something will turn up.’

  Gina and Ben exchanged alarmed glances. This was the first time Gorran had hinted that there could be a problem behind the scenes at the picture house.

  ‘Well, we’re still quite a way from completion of the project,’ Ben said. ‘But I know Gina has been thinking about some kind of grand re-opening event – would that help with cash-flow?’

  ‘Maybe, if we show a film and ask people to buy tickets instead of inviting them as guests,’ Gorran said, his tone subdued. ‘It’s a shame we can’t squeeze in a screening around the refurbishment but I know that would be difficult.’