Spring at Lavender Bay

by Sarah Bennett

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I want to thank you all for coming here this evening to help me celebrate the official re-opening of the emporium. I know how much Eleanor meant to you all, and she meant the absolute world to me.’ Beth had to pause for a moment and gather herself. ‘I never expected such an incredible gift and I only hope I can do her faith in me justice. Yes, I’ve made some changes, but this will always be her place.’

  She passed her glass to Libby and took the rope in both hands. Please work. Please, please, please. Beth pulled hard and the tarpaulin tumbled down. A sigh rippled around the crowd and she knew she’d made the right choice. ‘Welcome to Eleanor’s Emporium.’

  ‘Last load.’ Beth promised herself as she yanked open the dishwasher door and wafted away the steam billowing out. Her feet were killing her—the heels had been a huge mistake, even if they’d been a perfect match for her blouse and pencil skirt. First thing tomorrow, she was going online to look for some pretty flats. She scrunched her aching toes inside her fluffy slippers and sighed in relief. Now if she could only find a full-body slipper to ease the stiffness in the rest of her. ‘Last load,’ she muttered and bent to empty the glasses from the dishwasher.

  She’d just placed the last glass in the slotted box they’d come in when the bell at the back door buzzed. Grumbling about the strain in the back of her calf, she limped down the stairs. Common sense kicked in the second before she pulled open the door—she was alone in the place after all. Flipping on the exterior light, she squinted at the large shape on the other side of the frosted safety glass. She checked her watch, it was past eleven. A frisson of fear shivered through her and she took a reflexive step backwards. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Sam?’ The security chain rattled as she slipped it off and opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He held up a bottle of champagne and a polystyrene box. ‘I bought you dinner.’ Her stomach rumbled reflexively, and he smiled. ‘All those sausage rolls, and I bet you didn’t have a single mouthful all evening.’

  Her hand settled on her noisy stomach and warmth flooded her cheeks. ‘I was a bit busy. By the time I thought about it, the plates were empty.’

  He lifted the box towards her. ‘Tonight’s special was chicken curry.’ Her mouth watered at the thought of it. ‘I didn’t get around to eating either. That drop-in guest turned out to be a pain in the arse. He hated everything about his room, even down to the brand of the freebie toiletries. I ended up giving him a bottle of fancy shower gel Mum gave me for Christmas and changing out the pillows. About the only thing he didn’t complain about was the curry, so it must be good.’

  Beth laughed and held open the door to let him in. ‘You should have come to the party, I had nothing but happy customers.’

  ‘Really? That’s fantastic. We definitely need to toast that.’

  Beth locked up and followed him up the stairs and into the kitchen. ‘One more glass and I might fall over. What I missed out on with the nibbles, I more than made up for with drinks. Every time I turned around, someone was there to refill my glass.’

  He paused in the act of pulling plates out of the cabinet. ‘We can have a soft drink, it’s no big deal, I just wanted to celebrate with you.’

  Sliding her arms around his waist, she pressed against the broad, solid warmth of his back. ‘Open the champagne. If that chicken curry is as good as you claim I might just take advantage of you.’

  Sam turned in her arms. ‘That sounds like the booze and the aftermath of the adrenalin talking.’

  She pressed a row of kisses along his jaw. ‘Maybe a little, does that matter?’

  His arms dropped to press her tight against him for a moment, before he eased her gently away. ‘It matters. I wish all the way down to the ache in my groin that it didn’t, but it matters. We’re going to eat this curry, drink a pint of water each, smooch a bit on the sofa and then I’m tucking you into bed—alone.’

  ‘Do you know how annoying it is when you take charge all the time?’ She stamped her foot, immediately regretting her show of petulance when her toes began throbbing again.

  ‘You’ll thank me in the morning when you don’t have a hangover or any morning-after regrets.’

  He had a point, although she doubted there would be anything to regret about letting him into her bed. Opening the cupboard next to him, she grabbed a couple of pint glasses and carried them over to the sink. ‘You’re probably right. After all, being such a mediocre kisser doesn’t give me much hope for your prowess between the sheets.’ She bit her lip to hold back a giggle as she filled the glasses.

  ‘Mediocre? When did I get downgraded from basic to bloody mediocre? Your memory must be failing, woman. Here let me remind you.’ Beth found herself hauled around and swept into a tight embrace. Sam’s lips slammed down onto hers, and then he was kissing her so deeply she didn’t even mind the way it made her aching toes curl in her slippers. By the time he released her, she had to clutch the sink behind her so she didn’t slide to the floor.

  With a satisfied sniff, Sam wandered away to dish up the curry. Placing the plates on the table, he nodded at the seat in front of her. ‘Are you sitting down? Your dinner’s getting cold.’

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute, just as soon as my knees stop wobbling,’ she admitted.

  The expression on his face could only be described as gloating. ‘Mediocre, huh?’

  Gathering the shreds of her dignity, she slid into her seat. ‘Did I say that, I think I meant to say adequate.’ It might have been her turn to gloat as he choked on a mouthful of his curry. She offered him one of the glasses. ‘Water?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had been the right thing to do. Sam attempted to console himself the next morning when he climbed out of his lonely bed and hit the shower. Beth had been buzzed, and not just on the champagne. Once he got her talking about the party she couldn’t stop, her eyes shining with excitement as she recalled anecdote after anecdote about things that had happened, comments and compliments she’d received. When he heard about the reaction to the new sign, as well as what she’d chosen to call the place, he got a lump in his throat the size of a boiled egg. Speaking of which…he was on breakfast duty for their guests this morning so there had been a shred of practicality to his decision not to stay over as well.

  Dragging on a clean T-shirt and jeans, he made his way to the small upstairs dining room where he’d set up three of the tables for breakfast the previous evening. One of the tables was already occupied, and he paused on the threshold to swallow a sigh when he recognised the awkward guest who’d arrived the previous day. ‘Good morning, Mr Coburn. You’re an early bird. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Once all the racket next door quietened down I had a reasonable night, thanks.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Your literature implied breakfast started at 7 a.m.’ The timepiece on his wrist looked as expensive as the discreet logo above the breast pocket on his immaculately ironed shirt. The neck lay open, showing a thin gold chain with a St Christopher medal hanging from it. He’d seemed older when he’d arrived the night before in a smart pinstripe suit, but in the early morning sunlight, Sam judged him to be near-enough the same age as him.

  Resisting the urge to check his own watch, Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and offered a friendly smile. He knew it was barely five past because he’d checked the clock before leaving his bedroom. ‘There was a party to celebrate the reopening of the shop next door, I should have thought about that before I moved you to one of the front bedrooms. And I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting for your breakfast. I set the coffee brewing before I had a shower, so it should be almost ready. Would you like some juice?’

  ‘Orange, please. Do you have newspapers?’ Mr Coburn gave a pointed glance around the room. There was a small cardboard rack filled with leaflets on the Welsh dresser in the corner detailing local attractions which was usually the only reading materials their guests were interested in.

  ‘If you
let me know your preferences, I’ll nip down the road to the newsagent’s as soon as I’ve fetched your drinks. We do the usual breakfast choices: a full English or any permutation thereof, grapefruit, cereals, porridge, pastries. Have a think about what you want, and I’ll be straight back.’ Sam escaped into the kitchen to fix both himself and Mr Coburn a large coffee before the man had the chance to voice any further complaints.

  ‘Not your usual reading material, Sam.’ Neil Tate observed from across the newsagent’s counter as he took the ten-pound note Sam proffered him.

  ‘Just trying to keep the guests happy, Neil. I don’t know why we hadn’t thought about this before. I might have a chat with you sometime soon about a regular order for the pub.’ He patted the stack of papers under his arm. ‘Not sure we’ll have much call for the FT on a regular basis though.’

  Neil smiled. ‘Whatever you need, Sam. Mabel at the B&B asks guests when they book what their preferences are, maybe you could do the same.’

  ‘Great idea. I’ll add it to the website and get back to you.’

  ‘No problem. Hey, I saw your folks at the party last night, I assumed that meant you were working.’ Sam nodded the affirmative. ‘You missed a great do. That girl’s really outdone herself. Claire and I both said afterwards what a lovely tribute it was to Eleanor to rename the place after her. We have high hopes for Beth.’

  His mum and dad had been full of praise when they’d got in, and he’d heard Beth’s side of things, but it pleased him to know people like Neil were spreading the good word about the emporium. In a small town like Lavender Bay it was vital to have the support of the other local businesses and it sounded like Beth was off to a positive start. ‘Me too. I’d better scoot, guests waiting and all that.’

  Having settled his guest behind a plate of poached eggs, bacon and toast and the newspapers of his choice spread out over the table, Sam grabbed his own toast and took five minutes to scribble out a list of chores for the day. His plans for Subterranean had taken a bit of a backseat whilst they all adjusted to a new routine at the pub.

  With his dad back in charge of the stock and helping out with a couple of the quieter shifts behind the bar, things were much easier between them all. There would likely be a few tweaks to be made now the first influx of tourists had arrived, but at least they were communicating properly. Now he knew he had something to work towards for himself, Sam was in much less of a hurry. Better to do it once, and do it right.

  Hoping he’d given Mr Coburn enough time, Sam poked his head around the dining room door. Spotting the empty plate pushed to one side, he entered the room. ‘All finished? Can I get you anything else?’

  Mr Coburn glanced up over the edge of his paper. ‘Another coffee, please, and do you have a guide or directory of some kind for businesses in the area?’

  Sam frowned. ‘There’s a local traders’ association. I can give you the address for their website which details the members. Do you mind if I ask what you want it for?’

  ‘I’m on the lookout for investment opportunities. I thought I had a line on something, but it fell through.’ He stuck a hand in his shirt pocket and produced a business card. ‘I’m a redeveloper.’

  Alarm bells started ringing in Sam’s head as he studied the card. Hadn’t Beth told him a developer had been interested in the emporium before she’d decided to keep it? If this was the same guy, what was he doing sniffing around the place?

  ‘The website?’

  Sam started. ‘Sorry, of course.’ He fished a pen and the notepad he used for breakfast orders out of his pocket and scribbled down the address. ‘Here you go.’ At least Beth hadn’t got around to joining the association, so her contact details wouldn’t be on the site. ‘I’ll get you that coffee now.’

  By the time the other guests had been fed, watered, and pointed in the direction of local attractions it was past nine-thirty and Sam was itching for some fresh air. Donning his running gear, he set out on his usual route.

  The number of people already on the beach filled him with hope. An early Easter season was always touch and go with the weather. Some families chose to stick closer to home rather than risk spending hard-earned money and then sit in a rain-lashed caravan for a week. The temperature might still be on the fresh side, but the sun was up, and it was blue sky as far as the eye could see.

  Continuing towards Baycrest, it cheered him to see the staff had pulled back the wide patio doors and were setting up a few loungers, chairs and tables outside. Spotting his grandad, Sam changed direction and jogged up onto the patio. ‘Hey, Pops, how’s it going?’

  Pops doffed his cap to scrub at the thick curls on his head. ‘Morning, Sammy. Looks like a good start to the season, eh?’

  Sam smiled. Pops might be a little slower on his feet these days, but his mind was still sharp as a pin and Sam would encourage his interest for as long as he expressed it. ‘Signs look hopeful. The beach is busy, and according to the traffic report I heard before I set out there’s a long tailback on the motorway already.’ Busy roads might be frustrating for drivers caught up on them, but they also meant extra visitors.

  Pops rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s what we like to hear. It’s a bit brisk, so make sure you get that specials board out early and make a double batch of soup. People like easy meals for lunch and soup will give them a chance to warm up ready for the afternoon.’

  It was already on his to-do list, but Sam didn’t mention that. ‘Good idea, Pops, thanks.’

  ‘So, how’s that girl of yours getting on?’ The twinkle in Pop’s eye was nothing if not mischievous.

  It would be easy enough to protest, to deflect and demure with some statement about them being friends, but Sam was tired of that. ‘She’s doing great. The party last night was a real hit and with so many early visitors to the bay, I’m hoping the rest of her opening week will be as successful.’

  Pops gave him a speculative look. ‘You’ve decided to give it a go with her then, boy? Well, it’s about damn time.’ Smoothing his hair, he tucked his cap back on his head. ‘I had a chat with some of the ladies over breakfast, and seeing how it’s such a nice day we thought we’d take our morning coffee on the patio and then have a bit of stroll along the prom, have a little look around, do a bit of shopping.’

  Sam hugged his grandad tight. ‘Thanks, Pops. That would mean the world to her. Oh, and don’t get carried away with the idea of me and Beth being together, it’s just a bit of fun, nothing serious.’ Ignoring his grandad’s snort, Sam waved to the three ladies who’d just stepped out onto the patio to join Pops, and set off on his run again.

  He made it almost all the way home when Emma stepped out of the florist’s shop and called out to him. ‘Oh, Sam. How did those flowers work out for you the other day?’

  He thought about the sweet, sleepy kiss Beth had given him on the doorstep as he’d left the previous night. ‘They did the trick, thanks.’

  She touched his arm. ‘That’s lovely to hear, it’s about time you found someone to appreciate you.’

  Having already said more than he’d meant to to Pops, he drew a zip across his mouth. ‘My lips are sealed.’ He cast a quick glance down at himself, then gave Emma a rueful smile. ‘I’d better hit the shower and get prepping for lunch. See you later.’

  It wasn’t worth jogging the hundred yards from the florist to the pub, so he set off an at easy stroll. If he walked slowly enough he could get a good gander through the window of the emporium and see how things were going. He wouldn’t stop, he didn’t want Beth to think he was checking up on her, but a casual glance was what any passer-by would do.

  He was almost parallel with the business next door when he recognised the man walking towards him. He’d pulled a blazer on over his shirt, but there was no mistaking the imposing figure of Mr Coburn. Maybe he was just taking a look around, as he’d mentioned over breakfast…

  Not looking left or right, Mr Coburn marched straight through the front door of the emporium. Or maybe not… It took
all of Sam’s willpower to walk past the front door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The bell over the door hadn’t stopped ringing since Beth had taken a deep breath and flipped the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’. It had mostly been curious locals who hadn’t made it to the opening party, but she’d also had a pleasing number of tourists coming for a nose around. The buckets and spades had proven popular, as had the jars of penny sweets. She wouldn’t be buying a Rolls Royce any time soon, but there were coins and notes in her till other than the ones she’d put there herself for a float.

  ‘Beth? Can you give me a hand, lovey?’

  The smile on her face as she stepped out from behind the counter was not in the least bit forced as she responded to the request. ‘Hello, Mr Stone, what can I do for you? Have you come to sell me some of those painted stones of yours?’

  He gave her shoulder a nudge as she came to stand beside him. ‘You’re all grown up now, so I think it’s past time you called me Mick, don’t you? And no, it’s not about the stones, I’m looking for some help with a gift.’

  Although she’d been on first name terms with Eliza and Sam’s parents for years, she’d never relaxed the formality with Libby’s dad. He’d always been a slightly remote figure, mostly due to juggling raising his daughter whilst running the chip shop single-handed, but still kindly in his way. She nudged him back with a grin. ‘Thank you, Mick. Are you looking for something in particular?’

  He scratched at the thin layer of greying stubble on his head. ‘It’s my Libby’s birthday soon and she’s dropped a million hints about wanting some jewellery, but I’m not sure where to start.’ He waved a helpless hand towards the display cabinet.