‘God, no,’ he said. ‘I’ll let her down gently once we’ve got the go ahead from the committee. She’s already told me it’s as good as agreed.’
‘Even so . . .’ Gina shook her head. ‘I don’t know whether to kiss you or slap you.’
He was silent for several long seconds. ‘I know which I’d prefer.’
The look he sent her way was so intense that it almost took her breath away. She took a single step towards him and then the door to the projection room swung open and Tash stuck her head out. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, raising one pierced eyebrow. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m all set in here. Thundercats are go!’
Gina avoided Ben’s eyes as she nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll let Gorran know.’
Ben didn’t try to stop her as she passed him and it wasn’t until she’d reached the door to the foyer that he spoke. ‘By the way, Gina, Rose was just jealous. That dress is hot.’
Fighting the urge to turn around, Gina glanced over her shoulder. ‘Thank you. Now, come and help me round up the audience.’
The film itself was a triumph. Everywhere Gina looked, she saw people laughing and enjoying themselves. Feet were tapping during the dance numbers and the entire audience cheered when Lina Lamont was revealed as a fraud. Gina didn’t dare look at Ben, sitting with Rose just a few seats behind; it was too close to the truth.
Afterwards, she stood beside Gorran in the foyer and thanked everyone for coming. He was dressed as the studio boss R. F. Simpson but he refused to take any credit for the success of the night. ‘Really, all I do is provide the movie,’ he told anyone who tried to congratulate him. ‘Gina is the one who makes the magic happen.’
Ferdie was soaking up the praise too, and not just for his outfit; his Good Morning gelato was so popular that Manda ran out of stock and Ferdie had to promise to offer it for sale at Ferrelli’s for a few more days at least. And judging by the look on Elena’s face, she’d spotted a golden opportunity to talk Ferdie into introducing their Afternoon Tea ice-cream sooner rather than later.
Carrie caught up with Gina as the last few stragglers were finishing their drinks and leaving. ‘You know, I’m not sure Rose has ever watched Singin’ in the Rain all the way through before.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Gina asked.
Carrie grinned. ‘Because she had a face like a cat’s bum when she left with Ben just now – I don’t think she realised that Lina is the villain of the film.’
‘Oh dear,’ Gina said, trying not to laugh. ‘Well, I think she’s perfect for the role. In fact, I can’t think of anyone better suited to play Lina Lamont, can you?’
‘Nope,’ Carrie said. ‘But I think she’ll choose her costume a little more carefully next time. Speaking of which, any idea what your next choice might be? I wouldn’t mind getting a head-start in sourcing outfits.’
Gina shook her head. ‘There might not be a next film – not for a while, anyway. If we get our funding, the Palace will be closed for refurbishments for at least a few weeks.’
‘But knowing you, you’ll have big plans for a grand reopening,’ Carrie said, giving Gina a sidelong look. ‘Let me know what I can do to help.’
Gina finally fell into bed at just after midnight, exhausted but happy. Her last thoughts before she drifted off were of Ben, and how much better she felt to be back on friendly terms with him again. She didn’t approve of what he’d done but there was no going back now. And he’d liked her dress, she thought, smiling sleepily. She was glad he’d liked her dress.
An envelope was waiting for Gina when she got home on Tuesday evening. Recognising the Polwhipple council postmark, Gina dropped her bag to the floor of the hallway and tore back the paper flap. Hardly daring to breathe, she scanned the letter inside, then let out a whoop so loud she thought Ben might have heard it.
Her fingers shook as she dialled his number. ‘Have you seen it?’ she said, as soon as he answered.
‘I haven’t had the chance to check the mail yet,’ he replied, his voice tight with anticipation. ‘What does it say?’
Grinning, Gina held up the letter. ‘Dear Miss Callaway, Messrs Dew and Pascoe,’ she read, ‘I am pleased to advise you that your application for funding has been accepted. The amount requested will be split fifty-fifty between the two projects outlined in your application, with the proviso that the written agreement of the Bodmin and Wenford Railway Preservation Society is obtained within seven days of the date on this letter to extend the train line to incorporate the newly renovated station in Polwhipple. If this condition is not met, all funding will be withdrawn.’
Ben exhaled loudly. ‘So, it all hangs on the Preservation Society?’
Gina frowned. ‘Well, yes, but that’s all right, isn’t it? They’re bound to say yes now that they know there’s funding.’
‘I suppose so,’ he said, but he didn’t sound sure. ‘I’ll have to set up a meeting, try and talk them round.’
Gina thought for a moment. ‘How much work have you got left to do at the station?’
‘Hardly anything,’ Ben replied. ‘There’s a bit of snagging to do here and there, and some paintwork to touch up. Why?’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘But we’re going to need help to pull it off . . .’
Chapter Nine
Ben tugged at the brim of his station master’s hat and frowned at Gina.
‘Are you sure this is necessary?’
Lowering her empty suitcase to the ticket hall floor, Gina reached up and straightened the collar of his liver-coloured uniform. ‘Of course it is. Trust me, they’re going to love it.’
‘Target acquired,’ Carrie called from the door that led to the front of the station. ‘They’re at the gates.’
‘Okay,’ Gina said, glancing into the ticket office and giving a smartly dressed Nonno the thumbs up. ‘Places, everyone.’
Ben was at the door when the members of the Preservation Society arrived. ‘Welcome to Polwhipple station, gentlemen,’ he said smartly. ‘If you’d like to follow me, I’ll give you the grand tour.’
Gina glanced across from her position at the ticket office, where she’d been asking for a ticket to London. The men, who were all well over sixty if they were a day, gaped in confusion and Gina held her breath as she watched them taking in the original station clock that hung on the wall to their left, the immaculate mosaic tiles on the floor, the perfectly matched Great Western railway colour scheme that Ben had so painstakingly sourced. Would they get what she and the other Polwhipple residents were trying to do? Would they see the potential of extending the line to this jewel of a station?
Carrie appeared from the waiting room directly opposite the ticket office. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Ben. ‘What time is the next train to Bodmin, please?’
Ben consulted the pocket watch that was tucked into his jacket pocket. ‘The next train leaves in fifteen minutes, Miss. Platform Two.’
Carrie nodded and headed through the door that led to the platforms. Gazing at one another in obvious confusion, the men followed Ben in the same direction as Carrie.
Gina couldn’t resist going too. She watched as they took in the scene. Manda was presiding over a Ferrelli’s branded cart that was stocked with their full range of ice-cream. Vintage-style posters adorned the walls, advertising the delights of Polwhipple.
Ben led them in and out of each area of the station, pointing out all the original features he’d worked so hard to preserve and lingering in the signal box so that they could admire the gleaming dials, levers and cogs. In the ticket office, Nonno stood back to let them examine the reels of authentic tickets and to study the ticket punching machine. And everywhere the Preservation Society members looked, they saw happy smiling passengers, all apparently waiting to catch a train.
They finished up in the tea rooms, where Nonna was serving up a mouth-watering array of homemade cakes and biscuits.
‘As you can see, we’ve got plenty of local support here, from volunteers to funding,’ Ben said,
as the men sipped their drinks. ‘I think we’ve got everything we need to make Polwhipple station a great addition to the Bodmin and Wenford Railway.’
Gina stepped forwards. ‘In fact, the only thing that’s missing is the train.’
‘So, what do you think?’ Ben said, his tone steady. ‘Do you think Polwhipple station is worth extending the line for?’
The men looked at one another. One of them took a large bite of the lemon drizzle cake Nonna had insisted he take and chewed slowly. Another nibbled on a biscotti. Gina held her breath; surely they couldn’t say no?
‘I think you’ve got yourself a deal, Ben,’ Lemon Drizzle man said, and the others nodded. ‘How soon can we start work?’
Two weeks later, Gina stood with Ben outside the Palace on a bright Monday morning, the key to the silver double doors in her hand. Gorran had removed the essentials from his cluttered office and would spend the next few weeks working from home. The projector had been draped with protective dust cloths and the projection room itself was locked. It was business as usual for Ferrelli’s, however, although Ben had sealed the window that faced into the foyer to minimise the dust that would inevitably be flying around.
Hefting his toolbox in one hand, Ben looked at Gina. ‘Ready?’
She nodded. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. I really hope we haven’t made the biggest mistake of our lives here.’
‘Nah,’ Ben said. ‘This is the beginning of a beautiful refurbishment. You’ll see.’
Gina sighed and squared her shoulders. ‘Okay. Let’s go and see what we’ve let ourselves in for.’
Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the doors. With one final look at Ben, the pair of them vanished inside the picture house by the sea.
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. 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 that 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 it 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 farthest 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 the 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 s
pare 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.
The Picture House by the Sea Page 17
