The Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  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 set the glass down carefully. ‘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 to 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 . . .

  ‘Gina?’ Max’s voice crackled down the phone. ‘Are you still there?’

  She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Yes, I’m still here. Listen, I’d better let you go back inside. I just wanted to say hello, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ Max said, his tone warm. ‘And I love the idea of you coming up here. Make it soon, okay?’

  ‘I will,’ Gina promised. ‘Oh, by the way, Rose says hello.’

  She waited, willing him to say, ‘Rose who?’ but he didn’t. ‘Great, thanks – give her my love, will you?’

  The phone hissed in her ear. Frowning, she held it away for a second then pulled it near to speak again. ‘Of course. I’ve been meaning to ask – how do you two know each other again?’

  ‘What was that?’ Max said, the words distorted by static. ‘You’re breaking up.’

  ‘I said, how do you and Rose—’ Another burst of crackling filled her ear and Gina gave up. ‘Never mind. Speak to you soon, okay?’

  A jumble of noise tumbled out of the phone that sounded a lot like Max had suddenly been plunged under water. Gina rang off and sat cradling her wine glass, staring at the inky sky. Had Max really told her to give Rose Arundell his love? Surely that was a bit much for casual acquaintances. Then again, Gina had no real idea how well they knew each other; they’d certainly got on well during their disastrous impromptu double date at the Scarlet hotel. Perhaps it was a subject she could tackle when she went to London. When she could see the expression on Max’s face.

  Chapter Four

  Gina thought Gorran might cry when he told her the council had approved his application and granted permission to use the beach.

  ‘That’s great news,’ she said, smiling warmly into his suspiciously damp eyes as they stood in the foyer of the Palace on Friday morning. ‘So we’re all systems go?’

  He nodded. ‘Valeria and Rose stopped by to give me the news personally. I’ll get on and book the film licence, then speak to a mate in Truro about borrowing some equipment.’

  ‘And I’ll get the deckchairs sorted and make a start on the publicity materials,’ Gina replied, trying to ignore a stab of unease at the thought of Rose insinuating herself into the Palace already. ‘We haven’t got long to drum up interest.’

  She found Ben at the top of the scaffolding in the screening room, a tub of gilt paint in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. His expression was one of intense concentration as he called down to her. ‘Just give me a minute
. You can’t rush the detail on these things.’

  Davey was hard at work on the wall opposite Ben. He waved at Gina as she took the opportunity to glance around her; already she could see there’d been a vast improvement. The walls were no longer pebbled with ugly stiff woodchip but were smooth and creamy. There was no sign of the wooden struts that had supported the plasterboard. Instead, fresh plaster flowed into the ornate swirls of the gilt that swarmed up the edge of each wall and snaked along the ceiling; some of the designs had clearly benefited from Ben’s expert skills and others still needed some TLC, but enough had been done that Gina could see how amazing the finished effect would be.

  Moments later, Ben lowered his paintbrush and fixed a critical gaze on his work. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he lowered both the paint and the brush to the planks that made up the scaffolding floor and gazed down at Gina. ‘It’s not looking too bad, is it?’

  ‘It looks amazing,’ she said. ‘Even better than I remember.’

  Ben climbed down and stood beside her. ‘Imagine row after row of plush velvet seats,’ he said, pointing to where the bank of tired old seating had previously been. ‘With all mod cons, like drinks holders and springs that don’t try to disembowel you. And dotted about in front of those will be fifteen little round tables with chairs that swivel round to face the screen, for those who prefer their cinema experience to be more Parisian.’

  She laughed. ‘It sounds fabulous – I can’t wait to see it. Do you think you’ll have finished restoring the gilt by this time next week?’

  Ben narrowed his gaze thoughtfully. ‘The gilt will be done, but the floor needs to be resealed, and that can only be done once the scaffolding is out of the way. Then the seats and tables can go in. While that’s happening, Davey and I will finish building the remodelled bar and box office booth.’

  ‘And then the new carpet will be laid, right?’ Gina asked, picturing the schedule she had spread across her kitchen table. ‘Leaving us the best part of a week for dealing with any snags that come up before we re-open.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ Ben said. ‘The snagging should only take a day or two so there’s a bit of wiggle room there if we need it.’ He threw her a sideways glance. ‘Speaking of wiggle room, I looked into a few dance classes. There’s one tomorrow night in Padstow, if you’re up for it?’

  Gina stared at him, trying to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. ‘What kind of dancing?’

  ‘Ballroom,’ he said, shrugging. ‘The woman said tomorrow night was salsa but it doesn’t matter if you’ve never danced before.’

  ‘But we’re just going to get a feel for whether it might work to incorporate a dance lesson into the Dirty Dancing screening,’ Gina said. ‘We’re not actually going to be dancing. Are we?’

  He grinned. ‘Where’s the fun in just watching?’

  Gina pictured the glitz and glamour of Strictly Come Dancing and tried to imagine herself twisting and twirling to a pulsing Latin beat. It wasn’t an attractive image, until she pictured Ben doing it too. ‘Uh –’

  ‘Come on, what have you got to lose?’ Ben asked, his grin softening. ‘Apart from your dignity, and you lost that when you fell off my surfboard at the age of fifteen.’

  He had a point, Gina supposed, especially as she hadn’t simply fallen off; she’d belly-flopped into the waves with a loud shriek, in front of a packed summer beach. Unsurprisingly, it had been her one and only attempt at surfing. She did her best to glare at him. ‘You’re not helping.’

  ‘Look at it this way,’ he went on. ‘How can you tell whether the instructor is any good if you’re not actively following their instructions?’

  ‘By watching everyone else,’ she said. ‘And seeing whether they seem to be having fun.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t agree. But I can’t force you to join in so let’s agree to go and take a look, and see how the mood grabs us.’

  That seemed safe enough, Gina thought; the mood definitely wouldn’t be grabbing her. But Ben had been much too easy to convince. She eyed him suspiciously. ‘And you won’t shame me into dancing if I don’t want to?’

  ‘Nope,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I’ll pick you up at six-thirty – deal?’

  She gazed into his wide blue eyes, trying to decide whether she could trust him. ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘It’s a deal.’

  Gina caught Carrie just as she was unlocking the door of Carrie’s Attic, the vintage boutique she owned just along the promenade from the picture house, early on Saturday morning.

  ‘Hello, stranger,’ Carrie said, her green eyes dancing beneath her dark-brown fringe. ‘I thought you’d been abducted by aliens.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Gina replied, pulling a face. ‘Between the refurbishment and Ferrelli’s I’ve been run ragged – in fact, alien abduction sounds restful by comparison, as long as they’re not the kind that burst out of your stomach. How are things with you?’

  Carrie held open the pink and grey shop door and invited Gina to go inside. ‘Can’t complain. Business is booming, which is always a relief.’ She made her way through rails of silky fabrics towards the counter. ‘How’s the refurbishment going?’

  Gina described the transformation. By the time she’d finished, Carrie’s expression was full of delighted anticipation. ‘I can’t wait to see it,’ she said. Then she paused. ‘Who’s the guy I’ve seen Ben hanging around with?’

  ‘Davey?’ Gina said, frowning. ‘Ben’s worked with him before, on other restoration projects. He seems nice. Definitely knows what he’s doing.’

  Carrie nodded. ‘Single?’ she asked in an idle tone, concentrating a fraction too hard on the computer screen on the counter.

  A smile curved at Gina’s lips. ‘You fancy him.’

  ‘I do not!’ Carrie’s cheeks turned red. ‘Well, maybe a bit.’

  Gina waited, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Okay, a lot,’ Carrie admitted. ‘But you have to admit he’s cute.’

  Gina’s forehead crinkled as she summoned up a mental image of Davey Bevan. He was dark-haired, with chocolate-brown eyes and laughter lines when he smiled. He was muscular too, although shorter than Ben and nowhere near as well-defined. He wasn’t bad-looking, she concluded, but not what she’d describe as cute. ‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’

  Carrie gave her an enigmatic look. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have. Anyway, do you know if he’s single, or do I have to look him up on Tinder to find out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gina began, mentally sifting through the few conversations she’d had with Davey. ‘Oh, I think he is! Ben was telling me he broke up with someone and had to find somewhere new to live.’

  Carrie’s face fell. ‘So he’s nursing a broken heart?’

  Gina racked her memory. ‘No, I think it was at the end of last year. I can find out, if you like?’

  ‘No!’ Carrie yelped in alarm. ‘I don’t want him to know I’m interested yet.’

  Gina couldn’t help laughing. ‘I wasn’t going to launch into a “my mate fancies you” routine, Carrie. I do know the meaning of the word discretion.’

  The other woman gnawed at her lip. ‘Well . . . I suppose if you don’t make it obvious . . .’

  ‘Consider it done,’ Gina said, still amused. ‘So, apart from your undying passion for Davey, what else is new?’

  ‘Not much,’ Carrie said, gazing around the shop. She frowned. ‘Except that I had a visit from Rose Arundell yesterday. She says she’s organising a Dirty Dancing screening on the beach in a few weeks, with Gorran. Is that right?’

  Gina felt her jaw tighten. ‘What?’

  Carrie shrugged. ‘That’s what I said. And she told me that you’re busy with the refurbishment, so Gorran has asked her to take over the event management. She wants me to source a hundred blow-up watermelons and a Penny outfit for her.’

  She shouldn’t really be surprised, Gina thought, sidelining the competition was a move straight out of the megalomaniac playbook. Even so, she hadn’t expected Rose
to be quite so blatant about it. ‘She’s meant to be helping to organise it,’ Gina told her friend. ‘Not taking over.’

  ‘But it is happening?’ Carrie said, looking earnest. ‘Because I have got the perfect pair of tiny denim shorts for you.’

  ‘It’s happening,’ Gina said. ‘There’ll be cocktails, gelato and maybe some ballroom dancing lessons – Ben and I are going to check out a teacher tonight.’

  Carrie’s face lit up. ‘Excellent! I love ballroom dancing. I had lessons a few years ago – it was so much fun.’

  A thought occurred to Gina, one that might solve a number of problems in one easy hit. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’ she said. ‘Ben has this crackpot idea that we’re going to actually take part in the class – if you come, you can dance with him.’

  And save me from making a fool of myself, she added silently. In more ways than one.

  Carrie pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘I don’t mind tagging along. But are you sure I won’t be in the way?’

  ‘Trust me, the more the merrier,’ Gina said firmly. ‘There’s safety in numbers.’

  Gina waited until Davey had gone for lunch to pump Ben for more information.

  ‘He seems nice,’ she said, sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching Ben layer more gilt onto a tired-looking curl. ‘Have you known him a long time?’

  ‘Davey? About four years, I think. He’s reliable and very good – one of the best, in fact.’ He glanced over at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ she said easily. ‘I had the impression you always worked alone, so I was curious when I realised it wasn’t actually the case, that’s all.’

  Dipping his brush into the paint once more, Ben continued to paint. ‘I renovated the station building all by myself but that’s because no one else was daft enough to do it without getting paid. Usually, I’m more of a team-player.’

  Gina cleared her throat, wondering how to introduce the subject of Davey’s love life. ‘He looks a bit younger than you. How old is he?’