Dirty Dancing at the Picture House By The Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘Cherries would work well and they should just be coming into season,’ Elena suggested. ‘How about a Cherry Cha-Cha?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Ferdie said diffidently. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Elena and Gina exchanged a covert look; they both knew that the best way to get Ferdie to do anything was to allow him the time to feel as though the whole thing had been his idea in the first place. By tomorrow, he’d have come round completely and would amaze them both.

  ‘Enjoy your dance classes,’ Elena said as Gina kissed her goodbye on the doorstep. ‘If I was thirty years younger, I’d be joining you.’

  Gina glanced over her grandmother’s shoulder to where she could just see the edge of Ferdie’s plaster-encased leg propped up in the living room. ‘You’d have to find a new partner.’

  Elena’s eyes twinkled. ‘If I was thirty years younger I’d make a beeline for Ben Pascoe – young, muscular and good with his hands. What more could you ask for?’

  ‘I think Rose Arundell might have something to say about that,’ Gina said, laughing.

  ‘I think you might have something to say about it too,’ Elena said with a knowing look as she slid the door closed. ‘Ciao, bella. See you in the morning.’

  *

  Gina spent most of Monday morning working through the council’s Temporary Event Notice paperwork with Gorran, and drafting a request for permission to screen Dirty Dancing on the beach. They’d settled on the second Saturday in June as the best date; as long as the council didn’t drag their feet, they’d have just enough time to build up some interest and make the event a smash-hit.

  ‘Jory says we can use the toilets here, so that makes life easier,’ Gina said, tapping her pen against the edge of the table in the beer garden of the Mermaid’s Tail. ‘In return, I’ve said he can look after the beer and cider drinkers and the Scarlet would love to run a pop-up cocktail bar on the night.’

  ‘I suppose we’re going to need some kind of perimeter,’ Gorran said. ‘Be hard to check tickets otherwise.’

  Gina nodded. ‘It’s all going to be a bit harder to manage outdoors.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? We could wait a few more weeks and do it after the grand re-opening.’

  Gorran looked as though he wanted the ground to swallow him up. ‘Except that I need to pay my employees. I can’t afford to wait.’

  She felt a wave of sympathy for him; it couldn’t be easy to admit he was struggling. ‘Then we’ll make it work,’ Gina said briskly. ‘Ticket sales can go live as soon as we get the go ahead from the council. You’ll drop the forms off this afternoon?’

  He gathered up the paperwork. ‘I’ll head over there now.’

  ‘Good,’ Gina said, checking the time. ‘And I need to go and see a man about some cherries.’

  *

  The crate of glistening crimson fruit that Gina collected from the farm looked so tempting that she couldn’t resist testing a few on her way back to her grandparents’ house. Ferdie gave her a knowing look when she lowered the crate onto the stainless steel work top in the dairy and he saw her red-stained fingertips.

  ‘Tasty, are they?’ he asked, plucking one and rinsing it briefly underneath the tap.

  ‘Very,’ Gina admitted. ‘They’ll make an amazing gelato.’

  Ferdie popped the fruit into his mouth and chewed for a moment. ‘Eccellente. So, mia bella, how do you think we should do this?’

  Gina blinked in surprise. She wasn’t used to Ferdie asking for her opinion where ice-cream was concerned; he was more usually barking instructions and frowning when she failed to follow them to the letter. ‘Uh, stew them with some sugar? Then remove the stones and add them to a traditional vanilla gelato base.’

  Her grandfather tilted his head. ‘We could do it that way – it would create a perfectly acceptable flavour.’ He paused and fixed her with a stern stare. ‘But we do not settle for acceptable where Ferrelli’s gelato is concerned. We want intensity – an explosion of flavour in the mouth to give a tiny moment of ecstasy.’

  She thought hard. When Nonna was making a tomato base for her own hand-made pizza, she roasted the tomatoes to give them more flavour. Could that be the answer here?

  ‘Exactly!’ Ferdie cried, when she suggested it. He held up a bottle of clear liquid with a bright red cherry on the front. ‘And we’ll add a splash of kirsch for richness – the alcohol will evaporate in the oven, leaving us with a flavour that is pure heaven.’

  So he wasn’t averse to using alcohol in his recipes, Gina observed, thinking of Manda’s gin and tonic flavour idea. Making a mental note to try an experiment or two when she had time, Gina concentrated on washing and destalking the fruit, while Ferdie hobbled over to the oven set in one of the walls and switched it on to warm up. His mobility was much better than it had been when she’d first arrived in Polwhipple, although he continued to need crutches and still burned with a sullen fury at the restrictions his injury placed on him. Thankfully, however, his attitude to Gina’s presence had softened and he even seemed to appreciate the way she’d quietly reorganised the stock-management and ordering systems. It was a far cry from the mulish resentment he’d displayed when she’d appeared out of the blue, at Nonna’s request, to save him from his own stubborn refusal to admit he needed help.

  The cherries were roasted for around fifteen minutes, during which time Gina whipped up a batch of the vanilla custard they used as a base for most of the gelato Ferrelli’s sold, to replace the already chilled mix they were about to use. Once the cherries had cooled, Gina removed the stones and chopped the fruit.

  ‘Keep the juice,’ Ferdie instructed, from his perch at the end of the work top. ‘We’ll add that into the gelato mix for flavour.’

  At last, the cherries were cool enough to go into the ice-cream machine. The dairy had two industrial-sized machines – one to pasteurise the mix and the other to turn it into ice-cream, but for sample batches, they used a much smaller machine. Gina left it churning while she cleaned up and put together a fresh batch of salted caramel gelato to go out to one of their restaurant clients.

  By the time she’d finished, the cherry mix was ready. Tentatively, she scooped it out into two bowls and held one out to Ferdie. Then she dipped her spoon into the pale pink ice-cream and put it into her mouth.

  The sweet taste of the ice-cream mingled with the tartness of the cherries to produce a mouth-watering flavour that was so good Gina almost groaned. She let the frozen goodness melt across her taste-buds and reluctantly swallowed. Beside her, she saw Ferdie dig his spoon in for another mouthful.

  ‘I can’t believe how good this is,’ she said, after a few more spoonfuls. ‘I think it might be our best yet.’

  Ferdie pursed his lips, frowning thoughtfully. ‘A touch less kirsch and perhaps a hint of salt next time,’ he said, once his mouth was empty. ‘But I agree that it is good. You see how roasting the fruit brings out the intensity?’

  Gina nodded. ‘Absolutely. So what do you think? Does it get the Ferrelli seal of approval? Have we found our Cha Cha Cherry recipe?’

  Ferdie took another mouthful of gelato and nodded. ‘I think you’d better get on to the fruit farm. We’re going to need a lot more cherries.’

  Chapter Three

  Rose Arundell was late.

  Gina fiddled with the napkin under her glass of wine, resisting the urge to turn around and peer at the door again. They’d arranged to meet on neutral ground, at a wine bar in Newquay, and the longer Gina waited, the more she became certain she was making a horrible mistake. It was Wednesday evening, three days since Ben had dropped the bombshell that Rose wanted in on the Dirty Dancing screening, and Gorran had heard nothing back from the council. That in itself wasn’t unusual – local government often worked at speeds that made glaciers look fast. Then Ben had told Gina that Rose wanted to meet her and the penny had dropped; the council’s permission depended upon how the meeting went. Maybe this was Rose’s way of showing Gina who was in charge, she t
hought. Maybe she was going to stand her up.

  Pulling out her phone, Gina tapped out a message to Ben. Are you sure it was 7.30pm?

  That’s what she said. But punctuality isn’t one of Rose’s strong points.

  ‘Now he tells me,’ Gina muttered under her breath, checking the time again. She’d give it ten more minutes and then she’d leave.

  Eight minutes later, Gina felt a gust of wind wash over her as the door of the wine bar opened. She glanced over her shoulder and was simultaneously pleased and disappointed to see Rose in the doorway, looking as effortlessly elegant as ever. Plastering what she hoped was a conciliatory expression on her face, Gina waited for the blonde-haired woman to remove her jacket and deign to notice her.

  Gina’s jaw was starting to clench by the time Rose glanced around and spotted her. She gave a cool smile and threaded her way towards the bar.

  ‘Gina,’ Rose said, air-kissing both of Gina’s cheeks in a way that reminded her of The Godfather. ‘How nice to see you. I’m so glad you didn’t go to the trouble of dressing up.’

  Clamping her lips together, Gina counted to five; it had taken her almost an hour to decide what to wear. ‘It’s nice to see you too,’ she managed after a long few seconds, praying the words didn’t sound as false out loud as they did in her head. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  Rose ordered a gin and tonic. There was no sign of an apology for keeping Gina waiting – no sign that Rose ever realised one might be necessary. Saying sorry was something that other people did, Gina thought. Swallowing a sigh, she eyed the half-drunk wine glass in front of her. Would it be enough to get her through the meeting? she wondered. Was there enough wine in the whole of Newquay for that?

  ‘So,’ she said, once Rose had her drink and was seated on one of the nearby bar stools. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Rose smiled, with no trace of humour. ‘It’s really quite straightforward. As I imagine Ben told you, my family has been an important part of the local community for centuries. That’s why my mother and my uncle do so much for the town council – we like to feel as though we’re giving something back.’

  Gina took a deep swig of wine; Rose’s Lady Bountiful tone was grating on her nerves already.

  ‘And of course, the Palace is one of Ben’s pet projects, which me makes me even keener to help out.’ Rose went on, her peach-coloured lips curving into a faint smile. ‘I’m not one of those women who try to undermine their partners.’

  What was that supposed to mean, Gina wondered, battling to keep her face impassive. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘I’d like to help out with the next screening,’ Rose replied. ‘Dirty Dancing has always been one of my favourite movies so it seems like the perfect time to jump on board. And I hope you don’t mind me saying this but I think you’ve been a little unambitious with your efforts so far.’

  Gina couldn’t help it, she bristled. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Now I’ve made you cross,’ Rose said, looking very much as though that had been her intention. ‘I mean, obviously you’ve done a good enough job. I’m just not sure you have the contacts to take things to the next level. Have you thought about sponsorship, for example?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘You could approach a drinks brand or an upmarket holiday company,’ Rose continued, ignoring Gina. ‘I’m sure there’d be plenty of takers, if the right person was asking, and all they’d need in return is some product placement and advertising space.’

  ‘I know how sponsorship works,’ Gina managed to grind out. ‘It’s part of my job back in London.’

  Rose smiled. ‘Of course it is. But my family happens to have excellent links with the drinks and hospitality industries – why don’t you let me see what I can rustle up?’

  Gina hesitated. On one hand, sponsorship seemed like a great way to reduce Gorran’s overheads and bring in some much-needed cash. But it meant giving Rose the satisfaction of being right and Gina wasn’t sure she could bear it.

  ‘Of course, all of this depends on whether the town council is able to grant the temporary event notice and give permission to use the beach,’ Rose said. ‘My mother says they’re meeting tomorrow to discuss it.’

  The implication was obvious. Gina pictured Gorran’s worried expression whenever the subject of money came up and squashed her rising irritation. ‘Of course. But providing the council gives us the go ahead, I’d be happy for you to chase up some sponsorship leads.’ She managed a strained smile. ‘Thank you.’

  Rose’s forehead crinkled. ‘Oh, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Don’t you need to check with Gorran first?’ she asked innocently. ‘Ben told me he runs the show – you’re just a volunteer.’

  Silently counting to ten, Gina drained the last of her wine and stood up. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ she said, standing up and reaching for her bag. ‘I’ll speak to him tomorrow morning. Sorry I can’t stay for another – I’m expecting a call from Max soon.’

  Rose tipped her head graciously. ‘I understand. Do say hello from me, won’t you?’

  Gina felt her carefully-constructed smile start to slip. ‘Good night, Rose.’

  It took her most of the cab ride home to calm down. The first thing she did when she walked through the door was head to the fridge to pour a large glass of Pinot Grigio, which she carried out to the balcony that overlooked the cliffs. The sun had vanished below the horizon and the sky was a mixture of navy blue and mauve, streaked with velvet grey and dotted with early stars. Gina sipped her drink, allowing the rhythmic crash of the waves below to soothe her jangling temper. On the surface, Rose hadn’t said or done anything especially terrible; she was far too clever for that. Even so, Gina still felt unsettled, mostly by things that hadn’t been said. Her parting shot, asking Gina to say hello to Max, had been designed to ruffle feathers and Gina was irritated to note that it had worked. She still wasn’t entirely sure how Rose knew Max, other than some vague reference to Arundell family business interests, but at least that was something Gina could address. Lifting up her phone, she stabbed in Max’s name and hit call.

  It rang for a long time before he answered and Gina could tell right away that he was in a bar. ‘Hi,’ he shouted, causing her to wince and hold the phone away from her ear. ‘Can you hear me okay?’

  ‘Yes, I can hear you. Is this a bad time?’

  ‘No, not especially. Hang on, let me just—’ His voice trailed off, leaving her with a confused impression of loud conversations and thumping music. Then there was the thud of what sounded like a door and the music faded away. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘Much,’ she said, relieved both that he was no longer bellowing and that he hadn’t made an excuse to hang up. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not bad. How are things in the shire?’

  Gina pulled a face. ‘Challenging. The refurbishment is going well but Gorran has cash-flow issues so we’re staging an outdoor screening to bring in some money.’

  Max sighed. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? Honestly, it’s just one disaster after another with him, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s not exactly fair—’ Gina began.

  ‘It’s true, though,’ Max interrupted. ‘That business would have collapsed months ago if it wasn’t for you. And I bet he’s not paying you for any of this, is he?’

  Gina thought guiltily of her bank balance, which was starting to dwindle at an alarming rate while she worked for free. ‘No, but—’

  ‘He’s taking you for a ride, Gina,’ Max cut in again. ‘Does he have any idea how much you normally charge for managing events like this?’

  ‘No,’ Gina said quietly.

  ‘And Ferdie,’ Max went on. ‘Has he offered you anything for your time? He does know you’ve put your career on hold to ride to his rescue, right?’

  ‘That’s different – it’s family,’ Gina replied, trying her hardest not to sound defensive. ‘Look, Max, we’ve talked about this already – not everything boils down to money. And I didn’t ring you
to have an argument, I rang because—’ She swallowed hard. ‘Because I miss you and I wanted to hear your voice.’

  Max was silent for a moment. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last, his tone much softer. ‘I miss you too. Let’s start again, shall we? How are you?’

  Gina took a deep breath, tasting the faint tang of salt in the air, and let it out again slowly. ‘I’m fine. Getting by. What’s new with you?’

  She listened as he described the usual jumble of meetings, dinners and drinks, interrupting here and there with a question or a comment. Max was always busy, his business and personal life swirled together into a complicated tangle that Gina had once accepted as completely normal. But things had changed since she’d been in Polwhipple and now the merry-go-round of social engagements and business lunches made her head spin, making her wonder how she used to manage.

  ‘Jamie and Violet were asking after you,’ Max said. He paused. ‘Actually, they asked if we were still together. I put them straight.’

  ‘Good,’ Gina said, aware that her stomach had suddenly swooped into freefall. Her grandmother’s words echoed in her ears. ‘I was thinking I might come up to London for a few days, actually. Once everything is under control with the refurbishment.’

  Max was instantly enthusiastic. ‘That would be fantastic. There’s a great new exhibition on at Tate Modern that I think you’d love, and I’ve got around a million party invitations with your name on them, stretching right up to Christmas.’

  Christmas, Gina thought with a jolt. She hadn’t thought that far ahead; in fact, she hadn’t thought much past August, when she was due to return to London permanently. The festive period was always the most frenetic time of the year in the city but what would December in Polwhipple be like? Quieter and more thoughtful, she decided, with a twinkling Christmas tree on the high street and fairy lights looping back and forth between the shops. Maybe Gorran would arrange a sing-along screening of White Christmas and everyone could dress up in red and white…