Spring at Lavender Bay: A delightfully uplifting holiday romance for 2018!

Growing up, the three girls had played elaborate games of dress-up. Eliza and Beth had always been princesses. They’d rope Sam in whenever they could, but never to play the heroic prince—that had been Libby’s role. No, Sam had been relegated to playing the bad guy, a dragon to be slain by Libby’s sword or an evil robber baron intent on stealing the kingdom. The flashback to those childhood days did the trick, just as he’d hoped and they both laughed. Her spine straightened, and she tilted her neck in a haughty angle as she gave him a mock-dismissive wave.

He nodded his head towards the door. ‘Go and make your call, and when you come back, I’ll make you something special. Tequila Sunrise, perhaps?’ The girls had snuck down to the bar one night when they’d been all of fifteen and experimented with cocktails, to their eternal regret and the permanent detriment of the bathroom carpet.

Beth pulled a face. ‘Don’t ever mention those again! Just when I start thinking you’re a nice man, Samuel Barnes, you go and ruin it.’ She was laughing though, the smile she gave him was as soft as the words were harsh. A blast of cold air sent a shiver through him, so he shut the door behind her and nipped upstairs to let his mum know he was going to try and wind the afternoon up.

With the remains of the buffet cleared and the last few stragglers having at least moved closer to the exit, Sam made a start with wiping down the dark wood tables, one eye fixed on the door to the back. It had been at least twenty minutes since Beth had stepped outside and she’d yet to appear, leaving him in a quandary. He’d always acted on instinct, making decisions based on his gut, and it had served him well so far. His teachers had encouraged him towards university, advised him he could have his pick of subjects and tried to tempt him with the world beyond the bay.

He’d always known what he wanted though—working in the pub had given him a taste for the hospitality industry, but he’d had no intention of following family tradition. There’d been a Barnes behind the bar of The Siren since the place first opened to serve the once-thriving fishing community at the turn of the previous century. Sam hadn’t been satisfied with pulling pints and making hotpots, though. Rushing home from school, he’d eschewed cartoons for the multitude of celebrity chefs gracing the airwaves with their grand creations. Pops had uttered a few choice words, but his folks had been nothing but supportive and encouraged him to dream as big as he dared. They’d all assumed there’d be years ahead of them before any decisions would have to be made about the future of the pub.

He’d planned everything meticulously, working hard to get the grades he needed for his catering course of choice. Winning the placement at the Cordon Bleu in Paris had beyond his wildest dreams, and having gained his Grand Diplôme, he’d landed a gig at a top-flight London restaurant. Several years of insane hours in that high-pressure atmosphere had been enough to alter his initial plans and he’d put the feelers out until he’d found the perfect fit. Tim Bray had transformed an average hotel restaurant in a small market town on the East Coast into one of the most sought-after bookings in the country. Sam had spent the last three years working for Tim, soaking up everything he’d taught him like a sponge whilst harbouring dreams of a place of his own one day.

Then his dad had taken ill. A nasty chest infection over the summer had deteriorated into bronchitis and eventually to a diagnosis of chronic pulmonary disease. The doctor had pointed the finger firmly at Paul’s upbringing in a busy, smoke-filled pub. With his condition worsening, Sam’s mum had been running herself into the ground trying to care for him and keep the pub going, leaving Sam little choice.

Deciding to put the best face on things, he’d convinced himself that running a seaside pub would at least give him the management experience he needed if he was ever going to have a place of his own. The bay had gradually worked its magic on him, and his plans had once again taken a turn from their original path.

For now, he was stuck in limbo as his dad refused to accept the limitations of his disease and talked constantly of getting back in charge. Sam couldn’t see it happening, but his mum had begged him to patient, to give Paul time to adjust to the new reality of things. She knew Sam couldn’t stay forever, had promised they’d find a long-term solution for the pub soon. He had worked too hard on his training to be willing to settle for making pub grub for the rest of his days. Just a few more months, six at most, and then he could get his life back on track.

A burst of laughter came from Pops’ table and Sam glanced over to spot Libby leaning against his grandad’s shoulder, laughing at some no doubt unsuitable comment from him. With her peacock hair and a heart the size of a lion’s, it was easy for people to gloss over what Libby had endured in her short life. Unlike the rest of them, she’d never had a chance to explore life beyond the bay and he found himself wondering what regrets she might harbour beneath her bold façade.

Catching him staring at her, Libby jammed her hands on her hips. ‘What?’

With a grin at the challenge in her tone, he crossed the bar to ruffle his hand through the bright strands of her hair, a gesture she claimed to hate, but always let him get away with. The spiky mop stood up in all directions after his ministrations. ‘You look like a bloody parrot.’

‘Cheeky sod.’ She poked her tongue out. ‘Did you come over here for something other than to bother me?’

‘Have you seen Beth?’

Libby shook her head. ‘She went to make a call.’ Standing on tiptoe she glanced over his shoulder as though expecting to see her. ‘Isn’t she back yet? Let me go and find her.’

Placing a hand on her arm to restrain her, Sam shook his head. ‘I’ll do it. Can you do me a favour and see if you can get Pops moving? I’ll be back in a minute to walk him back.’

A familiar speculation glittered in her eyes. ‘I’ll look after Pops. You see to Beth.’

‘Libby…’ It was his turn to offer a warning. Really, she just needed to give it a rest.

With an unrepentant grin, she turned towards the table and gave Pops a nudge. ‘Come on, it’s your lucky night, I’m walking you home.’

Grumbling, Pops got to his feet. ‘I don’t need a bloody babysitter, girl.’

‘Oh, hush. We can raid the ice cream fridge at Dad’s on the way back.’ Libby reached behind Pops to help him with his coat.

Trust Libby to have an ace up her sleeve. Pop’s eyes lit with anticipation. ‘Any Magnums?’

She hooked her arm through his and Sam stepped forward to open the door for them. ‘Almond, or Double Caramel?’ Sending Sam a wink, Libby waited for Pops to negotiate the large step down onto the promenade.

Leaning out, Sam watched them totter up the street, their conversation drifting back to him on a cold breeze.

‘You know the way to a man’s heart, girl. How come some young fella hasn’t snapped you up?’

‘No one wants me, Pops. I’m too much trouble.’

‘Bah, if I was fifty years younger, I’d snap you up. Lads today, don’t know they’re born.’ With a shake of his head, Sam ducked back inside; Pops could charm the birds from the trees.

His mission to find Beth proved unnecessary. In the few moments he’d been outside, she’d reappeared in the bar and been collared by Walter Symonds, a local solicitor. He wasn’t a frequent customer at The Siren, but Sam knew his parents used him for business matters, and for the power of attorney agreement they’d set up when Pops moved into Baycrest, the retirement home at the top of the promenade. There’d been an almighty row about it, mostly caused by his grandad’s pride, but having encountered the realities of another resident with dementia, he’d soon changed his mind.

Whatever Walter had to say to Beth had left her nonplussed, going by the pensive expression she cast at his retreating back. Sam stepped to one side as the solicitor approached the door. ‘Please pass my compliments to your mother, Samuel. Annie’s done the community proud today.’

‘I will, thank you. Have a good evening.’ Sam crossed quickly to Beth’s side. ‘What did he want? He hasn’t upset you, has he?’

Beth raised a hand to rub one side of her face. ‘Mr Symonds? He’s asked me to call and see him tomorrow. I told him I don’t have the final costs together for the arrangements, but he said it’s not about that.’ She shrugged. ‘He was a bit cryptic, to be honest. At least he’s agreed to open the office early, I need to head back to London first thing. I’ve promised I’ll be in the office by lunchtime.’

So soon? She looked dead on her feet. She hadn’t stopped since arriving back in the bay. Surely a day or two more wouldn’t do any harm? ‘You’re on annual leave, for God’s sake! What’s so bloody important that you have to drop everything and rush back?’ His concern added a harder edge to his voice than he’d intended, and he regretted the outburst the second he saw her stricken expression. ‘I’m sorry, the last thing you need is me adding to the stress of your day.’ He touched the back of her hand. ‘I’ll leave you in peace, give us a shout if there’s anything you need.’

Her fingers closed around his for a second before her hand fell away. ‘I’m…I’m so tired.’ The words were barely a whisper, more an aside to herself than anything directed at him. She inched up the next couple of steps. ‘I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, so I’m going to turn in. Thanks for your help today.’ Turning on her heel, she hurried up the rest of the flight.

Someone needed to take care of her. With Eleanor gone, they’d all have to pitch in to make sure Beth understood she didn’t have to cope with everything by herself.

Chapter Three

‘I’m sorry, can you say that again?’ The walls of Mr Symonds’ office seemed to close in around her, and Beth tightened her grip on the bag in her lap.

The solicitor peered at her over the rims of his glasses. ‘Miss Bishop has left everything to you, Beth. The shop, the flat above and all its contents, the contents of her savings and bank accounts. Everything.’

‘But, why me? Surely there are some relations somewhere who are her proper heirs.’ She knew Eleanor had been an only child—something they’d shared in common—but she was sure there’d been mention of some distant cousins…

‘No one she’d had any contact with in a considerable period of time. Miss Bishop was of sound mind when she drew up her will, my dear, I can assure you it’s all entirely legal and above board. She put all her affairs in order last year.’ Mr Symonds removed the tortoiseshell framed glasses perched on the end of his nose and placed them on the blotter in front of him. ‘I assumed it was something she might have mentioned to you, given the closeness between the two of you. I didn’t mean to shock you like this.’

Assuming his request to meet had been to deal with a few formalities and she’d be in and out, Beth had turned down Eliza’s offer to accompany her. A decision she regretted now. She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat. ‘We hadn’t spoken much lately. Things have been very busy, and I wasn’t aware she’d been unwell.’ When the doctor had talked her through the events leading up to Eleanor’s death, he’d mentioned her suffering from angina—something her old friend had singularly failed to mention to her. Whenever she’d asked after her health, Eleanor had sworn that beyond the usual aches and pains of old age she was fit as a fiddle. And Beth had taken it at face value.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, my dear? You’ve gone quite pale.’ She nodded and the solicitor all but leapt out of his high-backed leather chair to hurry to the kettle resting on a side table. Beth turned her head to stare out of the window and across the dark brown fields. Unlike the emporium and the pub, Mr Symonds’ office was located off the seafront, facing across the rolling hills which gave the area its name. The barren soil would soon give way to green shoots, and later turn into a sea of purple in every hue from the palest lilac to a rich, imperial shade.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the lavender farm in full bloom, a heat haze shimmering over the fields carrying the heady scent of the plants on the breeze. The thing she loved about Lavender Bay more than anything was the smell of it—comforting and rich, with a unique tang from the salt air of the sea. She’d bought perfumes, oil burners, even pillow sprays back in London, but had never found anything close to matching it.

The rattle of a teaspoon against china disturbed her thoughts, and she opened her eyes to find Mr Symonds leaning over to place a cup and saucer in front of her. ‘I’ve added milk, would you like a bit of sugar, too? Might make you feel better.’

She smiled at the genuine concern on his face. Poor man must get people blubbing and wailing all the time during appointments like this. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit shocked, as you said. I…it never occurred to me for one moment that Eleanor intended me to inherit the shop, or anything else for that matter. I’m not quite sure what to do, to be honest. My life is in London.’

And what an amazing life it was. A disappointing job with a terrible boss, a single room in a rundown house in the suburbs. Such a far cry from the perfect flat, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect life she’d thought she’d had once. She was so far from her ambitions and expectations, and with no idea of how to get out of the rut. But no, they’d never been her ambitions or expectations, they’d been her mother’s.

It had taken only a few days back in the bay to underline the fact that the people she socialised with in London were little more than acquaintances. The girls from the office, a couple of her housemates. They’d go for a drink or maybe a trip to the cinema occasionally, but if she never saw them again, she wouldn’t feel the loss of their company. Not any more than they would hers, no doubt. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself, and her friends, that she was over Charlie’s betrayal, there was no denying the fact she hadn’t moved on—only moved into hiding. The only people she cared for were Ravi and Callum, and half the time she felt like she was imposing on their good natures.

Mr Symonds settled back behind his desk, then pulled open one of the drawers to rummage inside. ‘There’s a letter from Eleanor which might help to explain things. I thought you might want to read it later, when you have some privacy.’

He placed the thick cream envelope on the desk between them, his hand hesitating over it for a moment, before he withdrew and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I also feel I should let you know that I have a standing offer from an interested party regarding any property in the bay which may come up for sale.’

Beth blinked. ‘Sale?’

‘Well, yes. There’s no mortgage entailed on the premises. If you did decide to sell it, you could realise a fair amount of money. We’d have to get you a proper valuation, of course, but this party is willing to offer five percent below market value for a quick settlement. There’d be no agent’s fees to pay so you’d likely make more than if you listed it on the open market.’

Confused, Beth took a sip of her tea as she tried to sort through the fresh onslaught of information. It was hard to focus on anything other than the envelope containing Eleanor’s last words to her, but she forced herself to try. ‘Are you telling me someone has already offered to purchase the emporium?’

The solicitor steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘No, not exactly. There’s a developer chap who’s keen to invest in the bay. He left me with an instruction to advise him of any property which becomes available on the promenade. I’ve made him aware the owner of the emporium has passed away, and he asked me to table the offer. There’s no expectation, you understand, but I feel duty bound to pass this information on to you.’

And duty bound to collect the conveyancing fee on any sale, no doubt. Beth dismissed the uncharitable thought almost as soon as it arose. Mr Symonds had been nothing but kind to her since this whole terrible situation had started. As soon as he’d heard she was working on the arrangements, he’d told her the expenses would be covered by a funeral plan Eleanor had taken out, which had been a great relief. ‘Can I have a little bit of time to think about things?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk again, this time retrieving a business card. ‘Give me a call next week.’

The promenade lay in the opposite direction to the train station, but Beth found herself moving on autopilot until she wound up standing opposite the emporium. The duck-egg blue signage board above the window was faded and flaking, with several of the gold embossed letters missing. Dirt obscured the bottom half of the plate glass and what stock she could see through the occluded window looked dusty and neglected. A pile of post lay scattered across the floor behind the door. Pressing her nose closer to the window, she could see past the dirt and cobwebs to a happier time.

She remembered standing in the shop just after her mother left for Florida, excitedly tearing the paper away from an enormous package Eleanor had presented her with. ‘What on earth is it?’

Eleanor, resplendent in one of the bright floral dresses she favoured and the ever-present rope of pearls at her throat, smiled at the younger Beth. ‘As soon as I saw it at the auction house, I simply had to have it.’

Beth smiled as she continued to unwrap the item. A flash of yellow, something darker nearer the top. She tapped her knuckles against it. Whatever it was, it was made of wood. After tearing free the last shreds of paper she stepped back, mouth rounded in surprise. ‘It’s…’ There were no words to describe what her eyes were showing her. Six feet tall if it was an inch, a giant banana curved from a square base, the ugliest carved monkey she’d ever seen clinging to the top of it. No, there were no words. None that she could say without hurting Eleanor’s feelings at least. ‘It’s…unique.’

‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Eleanor clapped her hands together. ‘We can stand it just inside the door, use it to display things.’

A woman’s shrill voice interrupted her thoughts, dragging Beth back to the present. ‘I hope they’ll finally do something with this place.’ The prim comment came from somewhere behind Beth.

Resentful of the intrusion, she turned to glare at the speaker. A middle-aged woman with an unfortunate perm and too much foundation smiled back at her. The scarf at her throat looked expensive, as did the camel-coloured wool coat she wore over a drab, calf-length skirt and sensible, heeled boots. She didn’t know the woman, but thought she recognised her from the church the previous day.

There was still enough of the lessons in good behaviour drilled into her by Eleanor remaining that Beth forced herself to speak, though conversation was the last thing she wanted. ‘Excuse me?’

Adjusting the handle of the leather handbag looped over her forearm, the woman nodded at the emporium. ‘I was just saying, I hope the new owners, whoever they are, do something about this place. Poor Eleanor, we all know she tried, but she was quite past it in the end. The place is an eyesore and really not in keeping with the tone we’re aiming for.’

So much unpleasantness delivered with a pearly-white smile and a demure cock of the head. Beth barely knew where to start. ‘And who is “we” exactly?’

‘Oh, the Lavender Bay Improvement Society, of course. I’m Hester Bradshaw, chairwoman and founder.’ She held out a hand tipped with neat, short nails painted in some neutral tone.

Beth stared at it, fighting the automatic response to shake hands. She wanted nothing to do with this woman, or her acid tongue. ‘I wasn’t aware the bay was in need of improvement. Excuse me, I have a train to catch.’

Undeterred, Hester settled into step beside her. ‘Oh yes, the Major and I noticed when we moved here that things had been let go a bit. It’s such a lovely part of the coast, and it benefits the whole community if we can improve the calibre of the visitors coming here.’

So, it was as she’d suspected. Mrs Bradshaw was a recent transplant to the bay. As Eleanor had been want to observe, it was always the incomers who wanted to change things. They only saw coastal towns and villages at their best, during the height of the summer season, and formed a romanticised ideal of life there. Once they made the move, they suddenly began to notice the peeling paint, the air of shabbiness brought on by slow years of decline and lack of investment. The residents of Lavender Bay had always maintained a sense of pride in their town, but it was almost impossible to compete with the all-inclusive cheap resorts on the continent that came with a lower cost of living and almost guaranteed sunshine.

Reaching the end of the promenade, Beth took a sharp turn to the left, increasing her pace as the street began to climb upwards. With any luck, she could outpace her unwanted companion. Those boots of hers must’ve hidden a sturdy pair of calves, because Mrs Bradshaw continued to match her stride for stride. ‘You know the area, do you?’

‘Yes.’ Goodness, if Eleanor could hear her, she’d be in trouble.

Impervious to her monosyllabic response, Mrs Bradshaw continued to prattle. ‘I haven’t seen you around the bay, and I like to think I know most people. I must say I was surprised to find a stranger so involved with the arrangements for Eleanor’s funeral. The flowers weren’t what I would have chosen, but you young people have such different ideas.’

Parking her wheeled suitcase, Beth forced a smile so false it made her mouth ache. ‘Yellow roses were Eleanor’s favourite which is why I chose them. She bought a bunch every week to decorate our kitchen table.’

Mrs Bradshaw blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. ‘Well. I hadn’t realised that. The two of you were close then?’

Suddenly overwhelmed with the memory of a smiling Eleanor pulling a roast chicken out of the oven, Beth squeezed her eyes tight against a threatening flood of tears. When she could trust herself to speak, she opened them to find a look of sympathy on the other woman’s face. She likely hadn’t meant any harm, was probably one of those people who spoke without thinking through the consequences.

Beth owed her nothing, but knew Eleanor had valued kindness above all things. ‘She practically raised me. Although I’d moved away, we were still very close.’

Mrs Bradshaw shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. As the Major says, I’m inclined to let my tongue run away from me. I meant no offence.’

‘It’s all right. I hadn’t noticed how the emporium had deteriorated. Hopefully, I can do something about that.’ Though what she might do, she had no idea. Selling the place would be the wisest option, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about it.

Taking her leave of a chastened Mrs Bradshaw, Beth made it past the smiling greeting of the guard at the ticket barrier and into a corner seat of the waiting train, before collapsing into a flurry of choked sobs. ‘Oh, Eleanor.’

Agreeing to rush back to work had been a huge mistake, but the pressure from Darren had been unbearable, not to mention shaded with hints he’d have to reconsider his support for her application for a supervisory position. Gritty-eyed, she avoided the concern radiating from Ravi on the other side of the partition and tried to focus on the screen in front of her. The lines of text wavered so she clenched her fist beneath her desk until the pain from her nails digging into her palm distracted her from the need to cry.

Turning her attention back to the matter in hand, she worked her way through the trail of emails that had been flying back and forth. The clients had liked the presentation and returned with a long list of detailed questions about the proposed contract. A flicker of hope kindled in her stomach; they wouldn’t have bothered to probe so deeply into the deal unless they were very interested. There was a lot of dross in the emails, but also some pertinent information for the response piece.