Chapter 4
‘I made you a cuppa.’
Briony had been so lost in thought that she jumped at the sound of Reggie’s voice behind her. She turned around and smiled at the older man. He looked like an ageing rocker. Whenever she looked at him, The Rolling Stones came to mind.
‘You know, it’s almost time for elevenses,’ added Reggie.
Elevenses. Briony smiled at Reggie. The word brought to mind the first time they’d met. He’d offered her a cuppa and a chocolate digestive. When she’d thanked him, he’d mentioned his neighbours, Marjorie and Mabel – sisters and retired widows who ran the charity shop next door. They were older than Reggie, and it didn’t sound as though he had always got along with them, but they did keep him stocked up with biscuits and tea for elevenses.
Briony wouldn’t have been surprised if they made sure all the little shops in Cobblers Yard had tea and biscuits for elevenses. Although Reggie had also mentioned that the bookshop in Cobblers Yard had its own coffee machine, and a sofa so that customers could make themselves comfortable with a book. She recalled what he’d said: You should try it. Their coffee is divine. It sounded as though if anyone visited one of the shops at this time of day, the shopkeepers in Cobblers Yard would invite them to have a cuppa – which is exactly what had happened to Briony when she’d first set foot in Reggie’s shop.
She took the cup of tea. ‘Thanks, Reggie.’ It was only her second day, and she hoped he didn’t regret employing her. She was aware that she’d spent the best part of the morning starting a job he’d asked her to do, then staring off into space, lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t want him to let her go. The money was handy, even though she was only working part-time, mornings or afternoons – Reggie said the times might vary, but she didn’t mind that, as they were only half-days; she had pets to look after. The kittens could only be left for so long.
Briony joined Reggie at his desk, perching on another stool. There was a more comfortable seat, but Wilbur had bagged that already. She reached out and stroked the sleeping dog for a moment or two before she turned to face Reggie. ‘I’m sorry about this morning.’
Reggie had resumed stringing a guitar in between sips of tea. He stopped what he was doing and looked up, blue eyes regarding her above his half-moon glasses, his expression bemused.
‘I’ve been preoccupied.’
‘You don’t say.’
Briony hadn’t known him long, but she was already familiar with his not-so-subtle sarcasm.
He smiled, and she smiled back. He glanced over at the window. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for, Briony. I understand.’ Reggie offered her a chocolate digestive biscuit from a plate on the desk. She took one, eyeing Luna. As always, her grandmother’s wolfdog was being a good girl. Her nose popped up, sniffing along the desk towards the plate of biscuits, and she could easily have nabbed one, given her height, but she didn’t.
‘You’ve got your grandmother on your mind.’ Reggie gave Luna a dog biscuit from a jar on his desk.
Briony dunked her biscuit in her cup of tea. Reggie didn’t know that it wasn’t all she had on her mind. She’d enjoyed working in the music shop the previous day, even though she’d stayed late after closing time to help Reggie with the window display. And now she had found that the morning had gone quickly, probably because there had been no shortage of customers, as it was a Saturday. However, it was bothering her that she didn’t have a car to get to work. There was a bus service, but Reggie had insisted on picking her up from The Beach House. He had said he didn’t mind, but she was worried about the cost of petrol; he was going miles out of his way just to collect her from Dunwich Heath and then take her back after work. She’d offered to pay him some petrol money, but he’d said he wouldn’t hear of it.
‘I feel bad that I just don’t see what I’ve done this morning, and you’re paying me for my time, and paying petrol back and forward to Dunwich.’ The last thing she wanted was for Reggie to be out of pocket. She said as much.
‘Not at all. You’ve cleaned my entire window display, all the shelving, and polished the violins and guitars in the window – something I’ve been intending to get around to for months. With the arthritis, I knew I’d have a tough time getting it done. And that’s the first thing people see, looking in my window. And look, I’ve sold two instruments this morning already. All because of my work-shy assistant.’
There it was again – Reggie’s well-meaning sarcasm masking a compliment.
‘But seriously, Briony, you are just too hard on yourself.’
Briony smiled shyly at Reggie. She’d known him such a short time and yet already he’d picked up on one of her character traits – or flaws, as Briony often thought of it. She was too hard on herself. But as the only child of two overachieving parents – they both gained first-class degrees in music while raising a child – she felt there was lot of expectation on her shoulders. She felt it even more keenly, knowing that she’d disappointed her mother by not following in her footsteps to study for a music degree. Her dad was a lot more pragmatic and just wanted her to follow her dreams.
Briony had always got the impression that her mum wasn’t impressed at all with her chosen career of marine biology. She didn’t know why; perhaps she simply had no interest in it. But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t encourage her only daughter in the pursuit of her passion. In fact, her mum had always seemed to do her best to discourage her.
Trips to the seaside had always been firmly off the menu when it came to family holidays. Briony had never understood; what parent didn’t take their child to the beach on a seaside holiday? Perhaps her mum had had a bad experience. It did now make her wonder, though, if it had anything to do with her grandmother and The Beach House. Maybe seaside holidays would have dredged up her mum’s memories of her childhood.
Briony had seen the framed photographs in the hallway, and on the grand piano in the double-aspect lounge. There were a lot of photos of her mum growing up. She had spent her holidays, especially her summer holidays, there on the Suffolk Coast. She didn’t look unhappy in those photos – not at all; especially on the ones taken outside The Beach House, which Briony had discovered her great-grandparents had built.
She’d found an old photo album with black-and-white photos of a youngish couple. Judging by their clothes and hairstyles, she imagined the photos dated back to the late forties or thereabouts. In one of them, the lady – Briony’s great-grandmother, Edith whose name was written on the back of the photo – was holding a baby. That baby was Briony’s grandmother, Blythe.
Briony thought of her mum and wondered, as she had done many times, why the happy, fun-filled summers of her mum’s childhood, along with her mother’s relationship with Blythe, had turned sour. Briony had always been told that the estrangement had happened when Blythe had left her grandfather, Edwin, and her grandparents had divorced. But Briony believed there was more to it than that – much more.
‘Lost in thought again?’
Briony apologised. ‘Sorry.’ She finished her tea. ‘Look, I’d be much happier with our arrangement if you docked my wages to pay for the petrol.’
‘What about your grandmother’s car?’
Briony put her teacup down. ‘What did you just say?’
‘Blythe’s old Morris Minor. I’m sure she wouldn’t have driven it to the hospital, knowing she wouldn’t be able to drive home. Although to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past her to try.’ He guffawed.
Briony recalled Emily mentioning an old Morris Minor when she’d asked her if her grandmother had a car, but like Reggie had said, she wouldn’t have been able to drive home straight after a knee op. Surely she would have organised someone to drive her to the hospital and back. So, where is her car? Briony thought. There wasn’t a car on the driveway outside The Beach House.
Briony told Reggie, ‘There wasn’t an old Morris Minor parked outside The Beach House when I arrived.’
‘Well, there wouldn’t be.’
Briony frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She never parks it there. It will be in the car park by the public loos next door to The Beach Café. She leaves it in the car park and walks from there.’
Briony thought that it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. What was the point of a car if you didn’t drive door to door? Blythe had a big enough driveway to park it on. ‘Why wouldn’t she park it outside her house?’
‘I asked her that once, when I came to tune her piano and thought she was out because her car wasn’t there. She said, It’s a jolly old car. She’d inherited it from her parents. It hadn’t let her down, but she wouldn’t risk running it up and down that dirt track to the main road. The suspension wasn’t brilliant – and neither was her back, apparently; she was worried she’d do herself and the car an injury. So she always left it in the car park.’
Briony tried to think. Had she seen an incredibly old car in the car park when the taxi driver had dropped her off the day she’d arrived?
‘If it’s in the car park, and you can find a set of keys, then …’ he trailed off.
‘I can drive myself to your music shop in Cobblers Yard?’
Reggie grinned. ‘Absolutely.’ He changed the subject. ‘So, I guess you haven’t been given a specific time to see Joss, apart from being allocated morning or afternoon?’
‘That’s right – and thank you for letting me finish work before lunchtime today, Reggie.’ Briony had realised that Joss’s free legal advice centre operated on a drop-in basis and had thought that if she was one of the last to turn up in the morning, she wouldn’t have a long wait to be seen.
Reggie said, ‘Well, it is only your second day, and I hope you haven’t been too bored, working in a shop. I know this kind of work is … how shall I put it … quite different from what you hope to do in the future.’
Briony nodded, recalling how surprised she had been when Reggie had told her that her grandmother talked of her only grandchild whenever he saw her, and how proud she was of her achievements – especially her first-class honours degree. But that hadn’t been the only surprise Reggie had had in store when Briony had met him. She’d found out that although her grandmother hadn’t had an invitation to her graduation, she had secretly been there. Apparently, for weeks afterwards, she’d talked of nothing else. Briony wondered if that was what had prompted her grandmother to send her a letter, in an attempt to open a channel of communication.
Briony had had no clue that Blythe was at her graduation, and wouldn’t have recognised her even if she’d known. She knew that Blythe wouldn’t have come forward and introduced herself because Briony’s mum was there.
Briony had wondered how Blythe had known about her degree and her graduation, but it hadn’t taken her long to figure it out. Briony had surmised that her grandfather, Edwin, had been sending Blythe photos of her over the years; she’d discovered them all in frames in The Beach House. They’d clearly remained in contact with one another, which suggested, contrary to what everyone had told her, that when her grandparents had divorced, they’d remained on good terms.
Her grandfather had never once hinted that he was in contact with Blythe. And he had never told her that he’d been sending her grandmother photos of her and updates about her life.
‘I’ll be relieved when I’ve had a chance to speak to Joss,’ she said to Reggie.
‘I hope things are okay with you.’
‘Oh, it’s not me – it’s my grandmother,’ blurted Briony. She looked at Reggie’s kindly old face and decided she could trust him. ‘It’s about The Beach House. The deeds are missing.’
Reggie raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘At least I think so. I’ve looked everywhere for them.’ Briony didn’t want to go through her grandmother’s things, but she felt she had to do something.
‘Why are you looking for them?’
Briony had arrived at The Beach House to a stack of letters. Briony breathed an exasperated sigh. ‘She keeps getting these official-looking letters from a solicitor, asking to see the deeds. If she can’t prove she owns the land, it sounds as though the person who instructed the firm of solicitors is after stealing it from under her.’
Briony hadn’t opened the letters. She wouldn’t stoop that low and open someone else’s mail – unlike her mum – but she had come across some open letters in a kitchen drawer. She wouldn’t have read them if it hadn’t been for the others she’d discovered on the doormat on her arrival. It was obvious that something was up, and Briony wanted to make sure her grandmother didn’t return from wherever she was and find the locks had been changed and she’d lost her beautiful home on the beach to some unscrupulous person or company.
After some initial misgivings about living in her grandmother’s house without her permission or knowledge, even though the letter she’d received from her had invited her to visit, Briony was now feeling a lot different about her stay. It felt as though it was meant to be – as though she should be there, saving The Beach House that her great-grandparents had built.
She didn’t know who was hiding behind the firm of solicitors sending those letters, but she hoped that Joss could help.
Reggie said slowly, ‘Do you think her disappearance could be linked? It sounds very stressful, getting those demanding letters.’
The conversation wasn’t making Briony feel any better. Would her grandmother do that? Just run away somewhere and bury her head in the sand? Briony understood that it must be stressful getting those letters, but it really wasn’t the right way to go about dealing with the situation.
‘I don’t know about you,’ continued Reggie, but whoever they’re representing sounds like a nasty, land-grabbing son-of-a …’ he halted. ‘Well, you know what I mean. Hounding an old lady out of her home.’
Briony nodded, trying to picture the sort of person who would do such a thing.