by Jan Jones
There was a pause. He could hear the thoughtful stirring of a spoon around the teapot. He had a sudden fierce longing to be sitting at Penny’s kitchen table right now, sharing the pot with her.
“You won’t be busy all the time though, will you?” she said slowly. “Would your parents be able to bring Daniel up here for a few days? We talked about it before, remember? It won’t take me long to get Mum’s bungalow ready for visitors. I daresay they can cope with it not being completely spick-and-span.”
Leo felt a wild leap of hope. Daniel, on holiday here in Salthaven where he’d chosen to make his new home. “Oh, Penny, that would be... Are you sure? Really? I’ll ring them right now.”
“No.” She was half-laughing at him down the phone.
“Why?”
“Leave it until a more civilised hour when they might actually be awake.”
“I expect Daniel’s already woken them by now, but yes, good plan. I’ll call you later. Thanks, Penny.”
The day was suddenly much brighter. Leo showered, shaved, changed and had the kettle boiled by the time Noel re-emerged from New Cut, hand in hand with Caitlin Ramsay.
Leo waved at them and jumped ashore. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said.
“Me too,” replied Noel, rubbing his nose the way Penny did when she was embarrassed. “Caitlin told me you’d been helping by highlighting the vandalism in the paper and trying to find out who’s doing it. It was just such a shock to actually see the graffiti, you know?”
“I do know. I’d have been the same. “
“Well,” said Noel awkwardly, “thanks for watching.”
He settled Caitlin in the dinghy before pulling strongly away up river. She laughed, completely comfortable with him, supremely confident. A sense of envy ran through Leo. At that age he’d already been too focused on his career to experience the sort of carefree courtship these kids were enjoying.
They disappeared from sight around the bend. A gentle swell slapped against the cruiser’s hull. Leo wondered again about moving it to the boatyard further up the river. But not today. If his parents could come up to Salthaven, then today he had cleaning to do. Daniel would be unlikely to notice flecks of shaving foam on the mirror, or the odd tea ring on the work surface - but Leo had a deep need for his boat to be perfect the first time he brought his son aboard.
“Good heavens.” Penny reeled back from the waft of polish as she opened Leo’s cabin door. It had never smelled like this before. “Anyone would think you were expecting your mother.”
“Very funny,” growled Leo. He looked tousled and harassed. Bless him, he must miss his son very much to be making this much effort. Penny decided there and then that she would make the bungalow as lovely as she possibly could for his family. She was fairly sure Mum would be looking down, cheering her on in spirit.
“Seriously, I’m so glad they can come,” she said. “And not just because it will spur me on to do the last bit of tidying up there. I ought to have finished it weeks ago but I’ve been putting it off. However, I have to go into the letting agency first, to take the bungalow off the books for the week, and you’ll need to come with me and sign the confirmation that it’s a freebie, otherwise they’re entitled to a fee. Do you mind?”
Leo reached for his jacket. “I’d be delighted. I’ll have you know cleaning is a much overrated pastime. Where is the agency?”
“Oh, it’s only in Market House. Quite a coincidence, given that we were talking about the place yesterday. It doesn’t look as grand inside now as it did when it was a private mansion, because of all the subdivided rooms that have been turned into offices, but the proportions and the ceilings will still give you an idea. Oh, and the staircase. The staircase is splendid.”
They walked through New Cut. The brewery yard gate was folded back, so Penny couldn’t see the painted aliens. Inside Market House she grimaced at something just as unpleasant - Terry Durham’s name on the largest suite of offices.
“Prime position,” murmured Leo. “Front of the house, windows on to the main street.”
“Always,” said Penny drily. “It’s the story of his life.”
Leo glanced around, apparently idly. Penny hid a smile, knowing his eyes would actually be taking in every detail of the large lobby, from the name board by the grand staircase to the grid of mailboxes on the long passage stretching towards the rear of the house.
“It always makes Julian ill if he has to come in here,” she said, “because of the crudeness of the conversion.”
Leo grinned at her. “Poor bloke. It’s probably like when I read a careless piece of reporting and itch to do it better. I could tell from your friend Rosamund’s gallery extension that he’s something of a perfectionist.”
“That’s putting it mildly. He says the only saving grace in here is that it’s such shoddy construction that it would be a fairly simple matter to gut the internal walls and open it all back out. The lettings agency is down the passage here.”
They had to wait while the agency girl found Penny’s file. She was a junior, willing, but slow. Penny noticed Leo reading the documents on the desk as they waited. He was such a journalist. She kicked his ankle, indicating that he should stop being nosy, but then saw him stiffen.
“Do you deal with all the rented houses in Salthaven?” he asked casually.
The girl looked round from the filing cabinet with an anxious expression. “No, there are other agencies. But we’re the best.”
He gave her his reassuring smile. “I’m sure you are. I was wondering about something with a sea view for friends of mine.”
The girl brightened up. “We’ve got some holiday lets in Westcliff Close. I could arrange a viewing for you. They’re ever so nice.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind. I’m a bit rushed today, but I’ll be in touch when I’ve got more time. Are they private rentals or do they go through a company?”
“A company, I think. Castle something. I can look it up for you.”
“There’s no need right now. I’ll pop back during the week.”
Penny waited until the agreement for the bungalow had been signed and they were out in the hallway again. “What was all that about?”
Leo cast a swift glance at the closed door of the front suite of offices. “Terry Durham has houses with the letting agency,” he said in a low voice.
Penny frowned. “What? No, he can’t have. One of his own firms deals with that sort of thing. That’s partly the reason I put the bungalow with Salthaven Lets, because they’re independent. You must be wrong, Leo. Durham Holdings runs caravan sites and hotels and pubs. Why would he rent out any houses he owns through Salthaven Lets and lose ten per cent of the takings?”
Leo looked very pleased with himself. “Presumably because the Westcliff Close houses aren’t registered to Durham Holdings. That’s what I saw on the desk. They are owned by T D Castle Ltd and if I remember right...” He paused to run his finger down the list of firms in the lobby. “Yes, thought so. T D Castle, 3rd floor. I wonder... Do you fancy popping upstairs for a bird’s-eye view of the market place?”
“Leo!” hissed Penny, but he was already halfway up the first flight, firmly fixed on his objective. He was like an adolescent pointer on a scent, thought Penny, following him with some exasperation. “I need to get to the bungalow,” she said to his back. “I’ve got rooms to air. There are beds to make.” There is also a vintage Hornby train set to get down from the loft for your son to play with.
“This won’t take long. I doubt there will be anyone in.”
“Of course there won’t be anyone in, idiot,” she said. “It’s Saturday. Ordinary offices don’t open on a Saturday.” But he wasn’t listening. She harrumphed crossly and went up after him.
CHAPTER FIVE
They arrived at the top floor. The ceiling was lower here and the doors off the passageway seemed smaller. Penny guessed that originally these would all have been attic bedrooms for servants. Later on, they had presumably mutate
d into store rooms for files, or clerks’ quarters. Out of breath from the climb - she really must investigate fitness classes - Penny looked along the silent corridor. Unlike the suites of offices lower down, every doorplate bore a different name. One-man businesses, she guessed.
“You might want to stare out of the window at the view at this point,” said Leo, gazing at a door marked T D Castle and idly flipping a credit card between his fingers.
Penny’s alarm increased. “Leo, what are you up to?”
“Me? Nothing, nothing at all, just testing a theory. Oh, look at that. The door wasn’t shut properly.”
Penny swallowed. “Leo, you are dangerous. If you take one step over that threshold...”
“I don’t need to. See for yourself, the room’s unused.”
Penny peered through the open door. It was true. Under a thick layer of dust there was just a rickety desk, a single chair and a filing cabinet. All three of them looked to have come from the charity warehouse. There were no papers, no personal touches, not even a kettle. Leo closed the door softly. Penny heard the latch click.
“Happy now?” he asked as he started downstairs again.
“I’m happy that we aren’t breaking and entering, but I don’t understand. Why were we even looking through the door? And why are you so pleased with yourself?”
Leo explained. “I was doing a search on Terry Durham last night while I was keeping what turned out to be a pretty poor watch on the brewery.”
“And?”
“And as you said, he has fingers in many pies - including, incidentally, the Green Dragon who placed that large beer order from the Seagull.”
Penny frowned. “But...”
Leo nodded. “Yes, I thought that was rather odd if he’s putting out bad rumours about the brewery. Anyway, amongst his many directorships is a company called ‘T D Castle Ltd’. And lo, what do I find in Market House but a minuscule office for T D Castle. In the very same building, mark you, as the much larger, far more impressive Durham Holdings.”
Penny sighed. “You are going to tell me why that’s dodgy, aren’t you?”
He fell silent as they reached the lobby, placing a finger over his lips and jerking his head sideways at the Durham Holdings door.
Penny followed him out on to the main road.
“Come on, Penny, you can see how handy having offices in the same building could be. Post gets put in the mail boxes in the lobby. All Terry has to do is unlock the T D Castle one when no one is looking and fetch out any correspondence.”
“Well, yes, but why? Leo, will you slow down.”
He smiled wickedly. “I don’t know why. Lovely, isn’t it? Where did you leave the car? Market Street?”
“Yes, are we going somewhere?”
“I have a burning desire to see Westcliff Close.”
“Really? I have a burning desire to get to the bungalow. It won’t air itself.”
“I’ll help you once we’ve been to Westcliff Close. I’ve got a hunch about this, Penny. Why would Durham hide ownership of another company?”
“Tax, I expect. Knowing Terry, he’s probably got a dozen companies salted away for a rainy day.”
“He has. I found quite a few of them. But T D Castle is a property firm and Durham Holdings is also a property firm. That’s what doesn’t make sense. He’s concealing something.”
Their destination wasn’t really in doubt. Penny drove through the Saturday traffic confusion, across the Crown & Anchor bridge and up through residential West Salthaven to Cliff Road. Westcliff Close was at the far end, hard up against Westcliff caravan site.
Leo, who as a child had spent summers with his great-uncle in one of the large houses further along, grimaced at the ranks of static caravans. “That used to be a perfectly good field.”
“So I’m told. Being an East Salthaven girl, I didn’t used to come up here. Lots of people think the caravan park is a blot on the landscape, but it gives folk a cheap holiday by the sea and they still come down into the town to spend their money. Mind you, these are Terry’s caravans, so it probably isn’t that cheap a holiday.”
“Penny, it’s an eyesore. Look at it. Did the residents not complain when it was built?”
“I don’t remember. You’ll have to ask your Uncle Charles. The caravan park has been established for years now. We all said how typical it was of Terry that while most of us were struggling to find the weekly rent for our first flats, he was buying up caravans wholesale. He started here, then later he opened the site on the river as well, up by the boatyard. That one is more sympathetically landscaped.”
“Where did he get the finance?”
“He borrowed it, presumably. I don’t think the land cost very much back then.”
Leo looked from the caravan site to the close of small neat houses. “T D Castle alongside Durham Holdings,” he murmured. “There has to be a tie up.”
Penny shrugged. “Maybe he reached the caravan limit and had some ground left over.”
Back in the car and finally on the way to the bungalow, Leo scribbled notes. “One thing does puzzle me,” he said. “Why hasn’t Durham branched out? Why has he concentrated on Salthaven instead of expanding his empire to cover the whole Lake District? He doesn’t strike me as lacking in ambition.”
Penny was driving the long way round to avoid the traffic. Sunshine bounced off the hills. The autumn colours filled her with a blaze of good feeling. “He likes being a big fish in small pond,” she said, considering the question. “He likes people who know him to realise he’s a success. He is greedy and hungry for power, but...” She paused, trying to be fair. “The thing is, he was born here and Salthaven is our town. We all want to leave our mark on it. It’s part of us.”
She pulled into the bungalow driveway, stifling the tiny pang it always gave her to know that her mother wasn’t ever going to be behind the bright front door again. Maybe she should have put it up for sale as Julian had advised instead of renting it out, except that she couldn’t quite bear to see strangers in there. Would it have been better to make a clean break with the past?
She blew her nose and concentrated on fitting the front door key into the lock. “Forget Terry Durham,” she said, slightly indistinctly. “His tangled power web isn’t going anywhere. You concentrate on having a lovely week with Daniel. When are they arriving?”
“They are driving up on Monday. Daniel’s got a party tomorrow and the extra day gives Mum and Dad time to organise themselves. Penny, are you sure it’s going to be all right, us staying here?”
He had put a hand on her arm and was looking at her with concern in his eyes. It very nearly unmanned her.
“The bungalow needs using,” she said, turning away. “It needs filling with life. It will make me very happy to have your son and your parents christen its reincarnation. Stop looking at me like that, Leo, or I’ll burst into tears. You open the windows at the front, I’ll do the back. Then we can sort out the bedding.”
Leo went to Sunday lunch at Penny’s house after all. It was even more crowded than usual as Caitlin was also there, making the most of Noel’s week at home. Listening to the general family chit-chat, he was confirmed in his view that they were a pleasant young couple. Noel, it seemed, was going to be working at the brewery after he graduated. To Leo’s slight surprise, Penny’s daughter Lucinda very much approved of this. He’d thought the snob value of a degree would mean she’d want something more cerebral for her brother, but as they talked, he realised again how thoroughly rooted in Salthaven they all were. Going away to get degrees and make the most of their brains was obviously a good thing, but it was then taken for granted that they would come back and apply those brains to the betterment of Salthaven industries. That being the case, he hoped Penny was right and the gossip about the brewery’s financial problems were indeed simply rumours, put about by Terry Durham to drive the share price down. What a nasty piece of work he was. However... Leo smiled to himself. If he did an article on the Seagull, that would ra
ise their profile in the community.
“I’ve got an idea for a ‘Made in Salthaven’ series for the Messenger,” he said abruptly. “Tell me more about the Seagull Brewery history.” He noticed Penny giving him a long look, then she went back into the kitchen for another tureen of vegetables. He felt an odd glow of warmth that she trusted him with her family’s well-being.
Caitlin was happy to oblige. The brewery had been founded in 1860 by her many times great-grandfather. His family continued to expand the trade, but by the outbreak of WW1 there were only two of the youngest generation working there. One had volunteered for the local Pals Battalion in 1914, along with a contingent from the workforce. The other stayed behind, pulling in retired draymen and recruiting some of the brewers’ womenfolk to fill the gaps.
“They never returned,” said Caitlin. “So my great-grandfather carried on with the Seagull by himself. There’s a diary his brother kept that got sent back with his stuff, but none of the men themselves ever came home.” She said it with matter-of-fact sadness, but it was clear it was just a story to her. It was too long ago, and the people concerned were too remote, for it to hold any personal horror. She and Noel were twenty-one, with the world ahead of them. They began to talk of plans for the future, of new beers, of expansion - somehow. Apparently another large order had come in unsolicited and they were struggling to fill it. “What we really need is more space,” said Caitlin.
Leo frowned. “Isn’t that what Terry Durham suggested and that you were so cross about? That you should consider shifting the Seagull’s operations to Lowdale Enterprise Park?”
Caitlin and Noel exchanged a split-second glance. “The beer wouldn’t taste the same,” they said in unison.
Leo had the distinct impression that they were laughing at him.
On Monday, Leo woke to a grey sky and the sound of other boat owners casting off. “Forecast isn’t good,” called his nearest neighbour when he emerged into the cockpit. “We’re moving up to the Oakerby Ground boatyard. You ought to shift yourself up there as well.”
