Fern Britton - A Seaside Affair

According to his press cuttings, Walter Irvine had been one of the finest actors of his generation, as well as a highly regarded theatrical impresario. So why had he been so completely forgotten, even in Trevay?

Helen could find no answer online. There was no mention of his private life, even on Wikipedia, and she could find only a couple of passing references to his private film collection. It was as if Walter Irvine had vanished into a black hole once the Pavilions closed down.

Helen stretched and sighed. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll crack this in an afternoon,’ she said to herself. ‘Maybe I should pay him a visit?’

To distract herself she phoned her daughter-in-law, Terri. Helen had been thrilled that her son had found such a lovely wife, and even more thrilled when the newly weds announced that she was going to be a grandmother. Little Summer was a year old now and Helen was totally besotted with her.

Within minutes of Terri answering, the baby – who was sitting in her lap – began breathing heavily down the phone to Helen. She was just starting to talk. ‘Gan Gan,’ she said. ‘Gan, Gan.’ Terri prised the phone from her sticky little hands, laughing. ‘Gan Gan is you, Helen. We think it’s baby-speak for Grandma.’

‘Well, I like Gan Gan just fine.’

Helen couldn’t wait to tell Piran, who was fonder of his almost-step-granddaughter than he liked to let on. She went into the front garden to wait for him and deadhead the last of the roses. Dusk was settling and the lights of Pendruggan farmhouse twinkled at her from across the other side of the common.

The set of the latest Mr Tibbs episode stood in stark relief against the grey sky. Filming was due to begin any day now and the village was enjoying its claim to fame.

She drank in the cool, still air perfumed with the aroma of autumn leaves and sent up a prayer of thanks for this new chapter in her life. Her son happily married and doting dad to a healthy baby girl; her daughter Chloe had finally found her niche working for a charity that helped provide communities in the developing world with clean water, and it sounded as though she’d found love too, with a fellow aid worker. Helen was immensely proud of both of her children. She was quietly proud of herself too, especially now that her first column had appeared in the Cornish Guardian . It had been a bold step to end her marriage and start a new life in Cornwall, but she was glad she’d gathered up her courage and taken the plunge. She felt that she belonged in Pendruggan, and with Piran. Theirs was a comfortable arrangement; for all that he was quixotic, untameable and sometimes downright rude, she loved him. She had been a good wife to Gray, who had walked all over her and taken lovers the way an alcoholic helps himself to another drink. Piran on the other hand, had never let her down and she truly believed he never would.

*

Brooke was thrilled with her idea. Once she explained it to them, she was confident that Milo and the Café Au Lait people would be thrilled to. She was going to enlist their help in saving the Pavilions. They could have a small coffee shop bistro in one half of the foyer, while sponsoring great plays, concerts, summer seasons and pantomimes. She would star in many of the productions and Colonel Irvine would resurrect his Colonel Stick alter ego for special performances. The papers would love the story. Trevay was, after all, the St Tropez of Great Britain – Milo had told her so.

She sat in front of her dressing-table mirror, wearing a hotel bathrobe, and made her face up carefully. The smoky eyes, coral lips and tumble of blonde curls that were the trademark of Brooke Lynne looked happily back at her. Finally she was going to make her mark. Saviour of a provincial seaside theatre and a proper actress. She’d give her publicist a call in the morning.

Her room phone rang.

‘Brooke? It’s Milo. I’m just checking in downstairs. The Café Au Lait guys will be here in twenty minutes. You ready?’

‘Almost.’

‘What are you wearing?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe a—’

She heard him tut. ‘I’ll come up and see to it you choose right. I’ll be there in two minutes.’

She pulled out a couple of simple dresses and put them on the bed. Nothing too revealing. This was a business meeting, after all.

She answered the door at his first knock and he pushed past her.

‘Cool room.’ He gave her a sweeping look from head to toe. ‘Nice make-up. Good girl. What have you got on under that robe?’

‘My underwear of course.’

‘Shame. Where are your clothes?’

She showed him the choices on the bed and he rejected them. ‘Too daytime. I need you to look glamorous. Sexy. What else you got?’

He chose the tight-fitting scarlet lace dress that she had planned to wear for the press launch the next day, impatiently dismissing her protests: ‘It doesn’t matter. You can wear it twice. We’ve got fifteen minutes before they arrive. I’ve told the front desk to send them straight up. We’ll have drinks here in the suite.’

‘OK.’ Brooke shrugged. To have the meeting in the privacy of the room would be a good idea. Then they could celebrate over supper in the dining room downstairs.

Milo was heading towards the door when a thought struck him. He turned and asked: ‘Shoes – what are you wearing?’

‘Stilettos?’

‘Perfect.’

*

Brooke looked in the long mirror and checked herself out. There was no doubt that this was the Brooke Lynne that Café Au Lait had hired. A blonde bombshell sex siren. She bent over to adjust her stockings and smooth the pile of her scarlet suede killer heels. ‘Good luck,’ she said to her reflection. ‘Tonight’s going to be a good night.’

She opened the door to Milo and two men in their forties both wearing sharp suits.

Milo kissed Brooke and introduced her. ‘Brooke, this is Rupert Heligan, Chairman of CAL UK.’

Rupert stepped towards her and kissed her hand, holding it just a little too long. He looked into her eyes and smiled. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last.’

‘Me too. Thank you, Mr Heligan,’ she replied, turning her bombshell smile up to warp factor seven.

‘Please, call me Rupert.’

She smiled and Milo introduced her to the second man. ‘Brooke, this is Michael Woodbine, CAL’s PR wizard. Without him, you wouldn’t have got the gig.’

Michael stepped forward and placed his hands lightly on her elbows while moving in to kiss her twice. Once on each cheek. ‘You were the perfect choice. Rupert and I knew you were the face CAL needed.’

‘Well, I can’t thank you enough. I am so thrilled to be an ambassador for such great coffee and such a great company. I love your ethos. Fair trade with your growers. Reinvesting in their businesses. I wouldn’t want to work with a company that exploited their suppliers.’ Brooke knew it was her sex appeal that was her big selling point, and why they were interested in her. She was quite happy to use her charms, but she was determined not to play the bimbo for the sake of it.

The three men smiled at her. ‘She’s not just a beauty – she has brains too,’ said Milo, ushering everyone to the huge sofas.

‘Oh yes, I’m so much more than a pretty face.’ Brooke turned her smile up another couple of notches.

‘Fix us some drinks would you, Brooke.’

Brooke’s million-dollar smile froze on her face and she stood still for a moment. She hadn’t thought about drinks, let alone being the one who ‘fixed’ them. She recovered quickly – she was a pro after all. ‘Of course. What would you like?’

She went to the cupboard that she’d been told was the bar and opened it. Everything anyone could have wanted was stocked inside.