‘Come along, then. I’ll take you upstairs,’ said Mrs Dent.
‘Where are your grandchildren?’ Clementine asked as they trooped down the hall.
‘They’ll be back soon. I sent them to the shop to pick up some more vegetables for dinner.’
Lavender grunted loudly at this.
‘Yes, I’m sure you like vegetables too, little one,’ Mrs Dent said with a laugh.
Clementine giggled.
In no time flat, Uncle Digby had delivered the suitcases to the rooms and everyone had unpacked, ready to start their holiday. Mr Phipps towed Uncle Digby’s car to his workshop. It wasn’t a bother, as they weren’t planning to use the car at all. They wouldn’t need to, because the guesthouse was right in the middle of the village, with the beach just across the road.
Downstairs, the sweet smell of freshly baked cakes filled the air and the long dining room table was perfectly laid with fine china and pretty floral napkins.
‘Mrs Dent, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,’ Clarissa protested when she saw the room. ‘We’d have been just as happy in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, my dear, I couldn’t do that to you on your first afternoon. But I might from now on, if you really don’t mind. I’ve got a beautiful old table in there – perhaps we can have breakfast and lunch in the kitchen and I’ll use the dining room in the evenings,’ the old woman suggested.
Clementine thought Mrs Dent had the loveliest smile wrinkles she’d ever seen.
‘Well, I know that Clementine and Uncle Digby and I would be very happy with that, and Aunt Violet will just have to get used to it,’ said Lady Clarissa firmly.
Aunt Violet appeared in the doorway. ‘What will I have to get used to?’ She’d changed out of the navy pants-suit she’d worn for travelling and was now in a smart pair of cream trousers with a red silk blouse and matching ballet flats. Clementine thought that she looked very stylish, although perhaps a bit overdressed for a beach holiday.
‘I was just saying that Mrs Dent didn’t have to go to all this trouble for us. We’d be happy taking tea in the kitchen,’ Clarissa said.
‘Oh yes, absolutely,’ Aunt Violet agreed.
Clarissa was surprised to hear it. So was Clementine, who asked if her great-aunt was feeling all right.
‘Yes, of course. A bit thirsty, but I’m fine,’ the old woman replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, at home you’re always grouching that the guests get to use the dining room and we have to stay in the kitchen,’ Clementine explained.
‘Just as long as I don’t have to do any work for the next week, I don’t mind where Mrs Dent feeds us,’ Aunt Violet said.
Clementine stared at her, puzzled. ‘But you don’t do any work at home.’
‘I beg your pardon, young lady,’ the old woman snapped. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a very busy person.’
‘Usually busy complaining,’ said Uncle Digby under his breath.
Aunt Violet spun around and narrowed her eyes. ‘I heard that, Pertwhistle.’
‘Why don’t you all come and have a drink and something to eat?’ said Mrs Dent. She winked at Clementine. She could see that her guests were going to keep her entertained.
Digby Pertwhistle helped seat the ladies, as he was used to doing at home. He glanced up at Mrs Dent, and his forehead creased. ‘I can’t help thinking I’ve met you before, Mrs Dent.’
She looked up. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing. You look familiar but I don’t recognise your name.’
‘Has the house always taken guests?’ Digby asked.
The woman shook her head. ‘No, my late husband and I bought it as a family home – from my aunt and uncle, actually. They used to come here for holidays. When Hector passed away a few years ago, I turned it into a guesthouse. I couldn’t stand rattling around here on my own.’
Digby frowned. There was a memory scratching inside his head.
‘So much for that mind like a steel trap, eh, Pertwhistle?’ Aunt Violet teased. ‘More like a sieve, don’t you think?’
Digby grinned. ‘Well, as Clementine pointed out earlier, neither of us are spring chickens any more.’
Just as Mrs Dent finished pouring the tea and Lady Clarissa served the cake, the front door banged and there was the sound of feet running down the hallway.
‘I think the children are back,’ said Mrs Dent. She went to intercept them.
‘What have you done with Lavender?’ Uncle Digby asked.
‘She’s having a sleep in her basket,’ Clementine said. ‘She was ’sausted.’
Clementine took a bite of her sponge cake and picked up the glass of lemonade Mrs Dent had poured for her.
‘This is almost as good as Uncle Pierre’s cake,’ said Clemmie, while munching happily.
Mrs Dent appeared in the doorway with two children. ‘I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Della, and my grandson, Freddy.’
The girl was tall and thin with light-brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She had piercing green eyes and wore green shorts and a pink t-shirt with a glittery heart in the centre. The boy was blond-haired and blue-eyed and, on first glance, looked more like Clementine than his sister.
There was a chorus of hellos from the adults.
‘You said she was older,’ Della whispered to her grandmother. ‘She’s just a baby.’
‘Della,’ Mrs Dent chided.
Clementine looked at the girl. She wore nice clothes but her face seemed the complete opposite of her grandmother’s. There was no sparkling and twinkling. Della looked as if she had swallowed something nasty.
‘Freddy, Della, aren’t you going to say hello to Clementine?’ Mrs Dent asked.
‘Hello.’ Freddy gave a shy smile.
‘Hello,’ Della said with a pout.
Clementine’s tummy twinged. Her mother looked at her and nodded.
‘Hello,’ Clementine replied.
Mrs Dent set about cutting some more cake for the children and directed them to sit at the other end of the table, near Clementine.
Soon the adults were chatting about this and that and the children were left to their own devices.
‘How old are you?’ Della asked Clementine with a mouthful of cake.
‘I’m five and a half,’ the younger girl replied.
Della sighed. ‘Granny said that I’d have someone to play with but you’re way too young. I only play with people who are seven and over.’
‘I can do lots of things a seven-year-old can,’ Clementine said hopefully.
‘Like what?’ Della challenged her.
‘I can skip with a rope,’ Clementine said.
‘Any baby can do that,’ Della scoffed.
‘I can read lots of hard words and I can make up poems,’ Clementine said.
‘No, you can’t.’ Della shook her head. ‘Five-year-olds are too stupid to make up poems.’
‘That’s not true,’ Clementine said. She wondered why this girl was so mean and bossy. It seemed strange that her grandmother was about the kindest person Clemmie had met, but Della was crabbier than her teacher, Mrs Bottomley, and Joshua Tribble put together.
‘I can make up a poem about you,’ Clementine blurted.
Della’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, you can’t.’
‘Yes, I can,’ Clementine nodded.
‘Show me then,’ said Della.
Clementine was trying to remember what Uncle Digby had taught her about limericks.
‘There once was a girl called Della . . .’ Clementine stopped. She was thinking about the next line. It was hard to come up with something that rhymed with that name.
Uncle Digby had half an ear on what was happening and leaned over and whispered something to Clementine.
The child smiled.
‘Well, get on with it,’ Della said.
Clementine tried again: ‘There once was a girl called Della, who was in love with a cute little fella –’
Della glared at Clementine. ‘I don’t love any
body!’
‘But I haven’t finished yet.’ Clementine felt her bottom lip wobble. She hadn’t meant to upset the girl.
‘Come on, Freddy. We’re going upstairs.’ Della pushed back her chair and pinched her brother’s arm.
‘Ow,’ the boy complained.
‘Della, why don’t you take Clementine with you too?’ Mrs Dent suggested.
But the girl raced off. Freddy turned and looked at Clementine. He gave an embarrassed half-smile and scurried from the room.
A fat tear sprouted in the corner of Clementine’s eye.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ her mother asked.
Clementine brushed it away and nodded.
Digby Pertwhistle leaned over and kissed the top of the child’s head. ‘Don’t worry about her, Clemmie. I don’t think she appreciates poetry.’
‘Did Della say something to upset you?’ Mrs Dent asked from her seat at the other end of the table.
‘She’d better not have,’ Aunt Violet said tersely.
Clementine shook her head. She didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, especially not if she had to share the house with them for the next week.
'Shall we go for a walk around the village?’ Lady Clarissa asked Clementine as they climbed the stairs to their room.
Clementine nodded. ‘Will Aunt Violet and Uncle Digby come too?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Uncle Digby’s going to have a lie down and I suspect Aunt Violet might be planning a rest too.’
‘Is Uncle Digby all right?’ Clemmie’s voice was anxious. Since he’d spent time in hospital earlier in the year, she worried a lot about the old man.
‘Oh, yes, darling. I think the drive just took it out of him – and having the car break down was a little bit stressful.’
‘Especially with Aunt Violet there,’ said Clementine.
‘Yes, especially with Aunt Violet there,’ her mother agreed.
The pair walked along the hall to their room at the front of the hotel. It had a beautiful view over the harbour. Aunt Violet’s room was even bigger, with a bay window seat. Uncle Digby’s room was on the other side of the hall, looking over the back garden.
Lavender appeared to be snoozing in her basket. But as soon as Clementine picked up the sparkly red lead that was hanging on the wardrobe door, the tiny pig scrambled to her feet and danced about at the child’s knees.
‘Someone’s keen to go exploring,’ said Lady Clarissa as she grabbed a pink cardigan for Clementine and threw a white jacket around her own shoulders.
Clementine snapped Lavender’s lead onto her collar and the trio set off.
Downstairs, they bumped into Mrs Dent, who was balancing a stack of plates from the dining room.
‘Have a good walk,’ the old woman said with a smile. She carried on into the kitchen.
‘Oh, I forgot the camera,’ Lady Clarissa said. ‘I’ll just dash up and get it.’
Clementine was left standing on her own in the entrance hall. ‘Mrs Dent’s lovely, isn’t she, Lavender?’ Clementine said to the little pig. ‘But I’m not sure about Della. I don’t think she likes me.’
The floorboards creaked and Clementine spun around. She saw a face peeking out from one of the doorways. It was Freddy.
The boy’s blue eyes widened underneath his mop of blond hair. ‘Is that a pig?’
Clementine nodded. ‘Her name’s Lavender.’
‘She’s cute,’ the boy replied as he took some tentative steps towards them. He knelt down and gave Lavender a rub on the neck.
The little pig repaid him by nibbling his fingers.
‘That tickles,’ he giggled. ‘Is she a piglet?’
‘No,’ Clementine replied. ‘She’s a teacup pig.’
‘Cool!’ said the boy. ‘I’ve never seen one before.’
‘Where’s your sister?’ Clementine asked.
‘She’s making up a dance,’ said Freddy. ‘She does that all the time.’
‘I love dancing,’ Clementine said.
Lady Clarissa walked towards the children. ‘Hello, Freddy.’
The lad looked up and smiled. ‘Hello. Are you going for a walk?’
Clementine nodded.
‘Can I come?’
Clarissa looked at her daughter and raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Clementine smiled and nodded.
‘Yes, of course, but you’ll have to ask your grandmother,’ Clarissa said.
The boy dashed to the kitchen. He was back in no time, grinning. ‘Granny said I could go.’
‘What about your sister?’ Clarissa asked. ‘Do you think she’d like to come as well?’
Freddy shook his head firmly. ‘No. She’s busy.’
‘You can be our tour guide,’ Clementine said.
Freddy nodded. ‘Can we go now?’
Lady Clarissa thought the lad was awfully eager to get moving. He rushed down the hall and wrenched open the front door.
‘Come on, there’s a lot to see,’ the boy said as he held the door open for Lady Clarissa, Clementine and Lavender.
As Freddy pulled it shut behind him, a shrill voice screeched, ‘Freddy, where are you? You’re supposed to be helping me with my dance.’
There was the sound of a door slamming and pounding feet on the stairs.
Clementine looked back at the house. ‘I think that was your sister.’
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ the boy replied and bounded off down the garden path.
Clementine looked at her mother, who shrugged, and the pair kept walking.
Freddy turned out to be a wonderful guide indeed. He introduced Clementine and her mother to Mrs Lee, who owned the village store, and Mr Alessi, the fish and chip shop owner. Mr Alessi’s brothers ran a small fleet of fishing boats that were moored in the harbour. Freddy took them past Mr Phipps’s workshop, where Uncle Digby’s little car was hoisted up high. Lastly, they met Mrs Pink, who owned the bakery and tearooms.
Clementine thought the village was one of the prettiest she’d ever seen. She loved the whitewashed houses and shops and grand sandstone buildings. Just past the harbour was the beach. On a grassy knoll behind that was a caravan park with mobile homes of all shapes and sizes dotted across green lawns. There were tents too. Some were small, while others looked almost like houses.
‘Granny says the caravan park has the best spot in town,’ Freddy explained as they walked along the seawall that separated the harbour and the beach.
‘Can we stay in a caravan one day, Mummy?’ Clementine asked. She liked the thought of a little home where everything was in reach. It would be different to Penberthy House, which was enormous.
‘That’s a lovely idea, sweetheart,’ Lady Clarissa said with a smile. ‘Perhaps we can save that for a holiday for the two of us. I don’t think Aunt Violet would approve.’
Clementine giggled at the thought of her great-aunt sleeping in a caravan, or even worse, a tent. ‘Can we walk on the sand?’
Lady Clarissa nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Give me your shoes and you and Freddy can take Lavender for a run along the water’s edge.’
Clementine kicked off her sandals and Freddy did too. She carried Lavender down a set of old concrete steps and then set the pig down on the beach. Clementine and Freddy laughed as Lavender hopped about, unaccustomed to the strange texture under her trotters. Clarissa snapped some photographs of the unsuspecting children.
‘She’s a rabbit pig,’ Freddy said as Lavender leapt into the air, her curly tail wriggling madly.
Clementine unclipped her lead and began to run towards the sea. The water was almost flat, with just the tiniest of waves curling onto the shore. The little pig chased after her but stopped when she reached the wet sand.
Lavender put one foot forward, dipping her trotter into a puddle, then she squealed and raced away towards Freddy.
Clarissa laughed and sat down on the steps, enjoying the warm sun on her back.
Eventually Clementine coaxed Lavender into the shallows. She and Freddy hooted with
laughter as they ran in and out with Lavender chasing them.
After a while, Clementine took Lavender up onto the dry sand and the two of them plonked down. Freddy sat beside them.
‘What class are you in?’ Clementine asked the boy.
‘Year two,’ Freddy replied.
‘I’m in kindy,’ Clementine said. ‘I love school.’
‘School’s okay.’ Freddy shrugged. ‘But I like holidays better.’
Clementine stroked Lavender’s tummy and the little pig grunted.
‘Where are your mum and dad?’ she asked, looking up at the sandy-haired boy.
‘Dad had a conference and Mum went too, so that’s why we’re staying with Granny. Where’s your dad?’ Freddy asked.
Clementine paused. She remembered when she told Angus Archibald that her father was a mystery and he’d told her that was stupid.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never met him.’
‘You have a nice mum,’ Freddy said, smiling. ‘And your Uncle Digby is funny . . . but I’m not sure about that old lady.’
Clementine giggled. ‘You mean Aunt Violet? She looks scarier than she is.’
‘Do you want me to show you the rock pools?’ Freddy asked.
Clementine nodded. Lavender was lying down with her eyes almost closed. Lady Clarissa wandered down onto the beach.
‘Mummy, can we go to the rock pools, please?’ Clementine asked.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll come too. Make sure you put your sandals on first. Those rocks can be sharp,’ Lady Clarissa replied.
The children put their shoes back on, and raced towards the far end of the beach. A sheer cliff rose up from the rocks. With the harbour wall at one end and the cliff at the other, the beach was a perfect crescent. Lady Clarissa and Lavender followed behind. Lavender was busy investigating the sand, snout down.
‘Look at this,’ Freddy called as he jumped across a puddle onto the start of the rocky outcrop. He crouched down and stared into the clear pool.
Clementine Rose and the Seaside Escape 5 Page 2
