Chapter 8
Her cheeks still burning with anger, Beth stomped along the lane by the harbour wall, over the slipway and along the cobbles, no clear destination in mind.
Simmering resentment accompanied every step as she turned over the conversation in her mind. Jake knew nothing about the relationship between Beth and her aunt. How dare he suggest that she had let Aunt Lizzie down! How dare he stare at her with that slight twist to his otherwise quite perfectly formed lips, as though he had judged her and found her wanting.
Beth stopped. Her walk had brought her to the beach and even from here, she could see the total state of dilapidation Number 4 had fallen into. Oh, Aunt Lizzie, she thought sadly, why didn’t you just sell it and enjoy your last few months?
It was reckless to even consider keeping the hut. Jake’s words had stung her into making a hasty declaration, but in the peace and quiet of the summer’s morning with nothing but the sound of the sea in the background, she was thinking more clearly. Just staying in Welby for a couple of weeks would decimate her savings, taking on the expense of repairing Number 4 was nothing short of foolish. The sensible thing would be to sell.
She would spend as long as she could with Lavinia and try to enjoy being back in Welby. She would let the tranquillity of the delightful little town wash over her, sitting on the beach and thinking only happy thoughts. She may even see if she could hire a small boat and go out into the bay, laying beneath an unbroken blue sky as she rocked gently in the swell. And she would sell Number 4.
A pair of mocking green eyes flashed into her head and she kicked at the sand, losing her footing and almost falling over. It didn’t matter what Jake Balfour might think of her, she told herself sternly. He was a stranger with an attitude, nothing more.
She became aware that someone was on the deck next door to Number 4, a tall slender woman with blonde hair and wearing a kaftan that was billowing in the slight sea breeze. Beth watched as the woman opened the door of her hut and had to work hard to quell the gasp of envy and surprise.
The entire frontage had been made to fold back and reveal the interior, sparkling and preening itself for all to see. Sunbeams glanced from a chandelier, the glossy white kitchen units shone like polished glass and tub chairs, piled high with luxurious cream cushions, issued an invitation to sit in their depths and enjoy the view. Aunt Lizzie’s hut had never looked remotely like this one, even in its heyday.
Having opened the door and arranged a few cushions into a more pleasing pyramid, the woman stood on the deck and slipped off her kaftan, to reveal a bikini and a uniform suntan that only the most ardent of sun worshipers could achieve. She kicked off a pair of impractical crystal bedecked designer stilettos, replacing them with a pair of slightly more appropriate crystal bedecked designer flip-flops.
Beth had no doubt that here was a member of the Beach Hut Club Jake had told her about. The people who had turned Welby’s modest beach huts into something worthy of the front row at St Tropez and with a sigh, she turned her back, letting her gaze drift back out to the distant horizon and thoughts of Aunt Lizzie.
The clink of glass and the fizzing of bubbles drifted towards Beth.
‘I say, do you have a cabana here?’
Looking over her shoulder, Beth found the woman, now with a glass in hand, staring at her.
‘Oh, er sorry?’
‘I asked if you had a cabana. This end of the beach is reserved for cabana owners only.’
Perplexed, Beth continued to stare. Where were the cabanas, she wondered? And had there been a change in the rules? The beach at Welby was open to everyone and always had been.
Rolling her eyes, the woman switched the glass of champagne to her other hand and then gestured impatiently down the row of elegant beach huts. Elegant with one exception.
‘Do you own one of the cabanas?’ she demanded frostily, her voice indicating that she already knew the answer to the question. ‘If not, I’ll have to ask you to move on.’
‘Oh, you mean the beach huts.’ Beth’s face cleared. ‘Do I own one of the huts?’
The woman flinched at Beth’s use of the word. ‘This section of the beach is restricted.’ Turning her back towards Beth, she began walking to her lounger, a small table at one side containing a cooler and an open bottle. ‘You can use the other end of the beach.’
‘I’ve been visiting Welby for years and the beach was always open to everyone. When did the rules change?’ asked Beth politely, who was fairly certain nothing had actually changed. Aunt Lizzie would have mentioned it in one of her chatty letters, overflowing with information about Welby and its comings and goings.
‘The cabana owners have invested a great deal of money in Welby-on-the-Sea and deserve to have an uninterrupted view,’ the woman said with a disapproving sniff. ‘Please move on.’
Beth frowned. She was still stinging from her encounter with Jake Balfour and here was another stranger, judging Beth, telling her what she should do.
‘So, the rules haven’t changed, you just wish the beach was private?’
‘It’s accepted that this section of the beach is to be used only by…’
‘Is it a rule? Or an expectation?’ challenged Beth.
‘It will be a rule, shortly,’ snapped the woman. ‘At the very next council meeting. My husband has submitted an…’
‘So, it’s not a rule? Not yet.’
Amazed at her temerity, Beth met the furious stare boldly. Maybe she should have stood up to Matthew a little more. If she hadn’t been so willing to do his bidding, happy to go along with his every suggestion, she would have insisted on coming to Welby to visit Aunt Lizzie and Beth would have seen for herself the state of both the beach hut and her aunt. Her lip wobbled slightly at the thought and to compensate, she sent a withering glance at the woman before her.
‘This beach is for everyone’s use,’ she said sternly. ‘And I have no intention of moving.’
‘Well, really!’ said the woman in outrage. ‘There is no need to be quite so rude!’
Beth’s brows winged upwards. The only rude person in the vicinity was designer shoe lady.
‘Not at all,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m simply stating facts. But if it makes you feel any better, the answer is yes.’
At the woman’s perplexed look, Beth continued. ‘Yes, I do own a beach hut.’
Under pain of death, Beth would never refer to it as a cabana.
‘You do?’ the expression on the woman’s face changed instantly. She smiled, and Beth realised that beneath the sulky expression, she was quite pretty. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you. Are you one of the Bennet-Hill girls?’
Beth shook her head. ‘No. I…’
‘Oh my! You’re not Maurice’s niece from London, are you? He did mention you were coming to stay.’
‘No, I…’
‘Ah, you must be Jacintha’s eldest, back from Paris! I’ve been longing for you to arrive, I love Paris. I’m Jemima by the way, Jemima Carrington-Smythe. How long ….’
‘I’m Lizzie’s niece,’ interrupted Beth quickly. ‘Lizzie Brandon. She left me her hut.’
She watched the expressions chase across the woman’s face as she tried desperately to place Lizzie Brandon and taking pity, Beth pointed to the hut next door. Silence reigned as they both stared at the drooping frame, the broken window and the empty coke tin rattling around the deck.
‘The woman next door?’ The voice held equal outrage and relief. ‘You’ve taken your time to show up. We’ve been waiting for you to come and sort out this blot on the landscape. It’s a wreck and very upsetting for the rest of the cabana owners,’ her voice was high and petulant. ’It’s making my husband very stressed. He comes to the beach to relax and restore his wellbeing after a hard week at work and all he can see is…is that!’ she waved in the direction of Number 4 and Beth followed the hand with its glossy red-tipped nails. She had to admit that it was a bit of an eyesore, sitting in a line of sleek little huts, immaculately painted and positively sparkling with attention.
‘Better late than never I suppose,’ acknowledged Jemima begrudgingly. ‘Now, I presume you will be selling? We have a buyer ready and waiting. Give me your details and I’ll pass them on to him. He’s eager to get on with the sale.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Beth, wondering if she had misheard. ‘You have a buyer…?’
‘Yes. And he’s keen to get things moving. So, your number?’
A buyer! Beth looked over at the derelict hut. She could sell Number 4 and not have to worry about the cost of repairs. She could spend the next week in Welby restoring her own wellbeing. And all Beth had to do was give this rather unpleasant woman her details. Surely Aunt Lizzie would understand.
‘What makes you think I want to sell?’ Beth heard herself ask, putting her hands on her hips and jutting out her chin.
Jemima raised one over-plucked eyebrow.
‘Well, you can't be that interested, you've never visited. The woman who owned it spent every single day in that hut and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you here.’
‘That doesn’t mean I…’
‘And it’s awful! Why would you want to keep it?’
‘Why does your friend want it?’
‘Our friend is happy to buy your tatty little hut and turn it into something we would all approve of. And he’ll give you an excellent price.’
Beth wondered what the price would be. Enough to help with the rent until she decided what to do next? Enough to allow her to go on an adventure of her own, following Aunt Lizzie’s footsteps down the Amazon or searching for fairy terns.
Jemima was waiting.
‘I…I…’ Beth paused. This was the perfect solution. Hadn’t she just decided she couldn’t possibly keep Number 4? She should accept the offer and get on with the rest of her life. And yet strangely, the words were struggling to make an appearance.
‘You’ve never shown any interest in the place. I thought you would leap at the chance of a quick sale.’
The green eyes flashed into her head again and she pushed them away angrily. She would sell Number 4 and not give tuppence for anything that Jake Balfour might say. She would probably never see him again anyway.
‘Well?’ demanded Jemima. ‘Are you going to sell?’
Beth glared at her crossly. She becoming very tired of people telling her what she should do.
‘No.’ She flinched with surprise at her words. ‘I won’t be selling.’
‘What?’ the ice was back in Jemima’s voice and the fingers gripping her champagne tightened. ‘You can’t want to keep this wreck.’
Beth looked at Number 4, forlorn and lopsided from its struggle with the elements.
‘I do,’ she said in surprise. ‘I spent a lot of time here as a child and I…’
‘Well, you can’t leave it in this state! It’s an absolute disgrace. Your aunt refused to update it no matter how many times we asked.’
‘Yes, I realise and I will…’
‘Something needs to be done and quickly,’ continued Jemima, wrinkling her nose with distaste. ‘Before my poor husband simply can’t bring himself to visit the beach anymore.’
‘Of course. But I…’
‘It’s simply not good enough and we’ve put up with it for long enough.’
Beth was chewing her lip as she stared at Number 4. She would get it restored. Take her time, and do it properly. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite the same standard as some of the other huts but she could get it looking the way it used to look many summers before. Aunt Lizzie used to carry out her own repairs, maybe Beth could learn. She would spend her weekends in Welby, slowly renovating the hut and then next summer she could invite Sally down for the weekend and they could lounge on the deck and while away long sunny days. Now that she had made her decision, she felt the thrill of owning her very own beach hut begin to tingle in her veins.
‘I realise it needs work,’ admitted Beth. ‘I will get it sorted.’
‘You’ll have to! And you don’t have much time,’ advised Jemima with a pout. ‘My husband is very upset and has already taken steps to address the matter.’
‘I will get it… steps?’ asked Beth warily. ‘What steps?
‘He…we’ve run out of patience.’ Jemima tossed her head, the blonde hair catching the breeze and rippling over her shoulders. ‘We tried to persuade your aunt to sell when it became clear she couldn’t keep up to the hut any longer.’
Clearly, Aunt Lizzie’s hut hadn’t progressed to a cabana.
‘And after she died and no one turned up to claim it, we were forced to take action.’
‘What action?’
‘My husband raised the matter with the local council,’ advised the woman. ‘And they’ve agreed, your aunt’s hut is not only an eyesore but a health and safety risk.’
Beth would be the first to admit negotiating her way in and out of the hut was a little tricky due to the rotten boards. The roof was definitely a worry. And the falling tiles and broken windows could be construed as a problem. But nothing that couldn’t be fixed, eventually. She just needed time.
‘Yes, I know and I will…’
‘So,’ the woman continued. ‘If you decide not to sell, you need to make the hut respectable within the next few weeks or the council will make a forced purchase. Our friend can buy it from you now, or from the council when they take it away from you. Either way, it needs to be owned by someone who can make that…’ she waved her red-tipped hand in the direction of Number 4, ‘look like something we want to see on our beach,’ and turning away she popped in a pair of earbuds, ignoring Beth’s horrified countenance as she threw herself onto her sun lounger and lifted her face to the sun.