Bones Under The Beach Hut (6 page)

    'Yes?'

    The
order arrived, so Kelvin Southwest broke off for a smirk at the waitress and a 'Thank
you, my lovely'. He then took a large bite from his Swiss bun, whose icing was
soft and left a pink frosting on the moustache of his goatee.

    'So
what about the beach hut?' Carole went on gracelessly.

    'Well,
the fire damage will have to be repaired.'

    'Obviously.
And I assume the repairs will be organized by someone from Fether District
Council?'

    'Not
just someone, Carole.' He beamed as he pointed a chubby finger at his chest.
'By me. By yours truly, Kelvin Southwest.'

    'Oh,
well, good. How long do you think it'll take?'

    'I'll
have to get on to the contractors. Depends how busy they are. But with a bit of
luck they'll get it done within the month.'

    'Within
the month? That's no good to me. My daughter-in-law and granddaughter are
coming to stay with me on Sunday week.'

    'Oh
dear, oh dear. I suppose I could tell the contractors it was top priority.'

    'If
you would, I'd be most grateful.'

    He
shook his head sceptically. 'I still doubt if they could do it before Sunday week,
though.'

    'But
that's the main reason I took over the beach hut from Philly Rose. So that I'd
have it for my granddaughter.'

    'Well
..." Kelvin Southwest stroked his wispy goatee with deliberation. 'We are
presented with rather a dilemma, aren't we? And that dilemma is not made easier
by the fact that your taking over the rental of
Quiet Harbour
from
Philly Rose was not entirely within the strict rules of Fether District Council
for the letting of beach huts.'

    'But
you told me that—'

    He raised
a placatory hand. 'Don't worry. It's down to me to make that kind of decision.
The beach huts are really my empire, you know.'

    This
was said without irony. He really did believe what he was saying. Carole got
the feeling that, to his own mind, the most suitable adjectives to describe
Kelvin Southwest might include 'Napoleonic' and 'Churchillian'.

    'So,'
he went on, 'if I've given my approval of Philly Rose's transfer of the rental
to you, that is a decision by which I will stand.'

    'Oh,
thank you so much, Mr Southwest.'

    'Kel,
please, Kel.'

    'Very
well,' said Carole, hiding her distaste, 'Kel.'

    He
looked at her with an expression of winsome complicity. 'As I may have
mentioned, I'm a bit of a sucker when there's a pretty woman involved.'

    Carole
didn't know whether he was referring to Philly or to her - or to both of them -
so her only reaction was a little nervous giggle.

    Enjoying
the teasing out of his narrative, Kelvin Southwest put the last piece of his
Swiss bun into his mouth and masticated it thoroughly before he went on, 'Now
I'm a reasonable man, Carole, and when I can I like to help people out -
particularly of course when they're pretty women - and I think I can see a way
round your little problem . . .'

    'Oh?'

    'Yes,
indeed. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.' Carole could only think at
that moment of one prospect that appealed to her less than scratching the plump
back of Kelvin Southwest. And that was having hers scratched by him.

    'You
see, Carole, as I said, the beach huts are my empire, and in that empire what I
say goes. If I get an applicant for a beach hut who I don't think to be a
suitable tenant - and it does happen more often than you might imagine - then I
tell them to get lost. Well, no, I don't, not in so many words. I tell them
that there are sadly no beach huts available, even if there are. So you see,
though I'm employed under the broad umbrella of Fether District Council, within
my empire I make my own rules.'

    He
paused, as if expecting some commendation for this statement, and Carole found
herself asking rather fatuously, 'And why not?'

    'So,
in the same way, Carole, if I were to decide to offer you the use of another
vacant hut here on Smalting Beach while
Quiet Harbour
is being repaired,
well, that could be done . . . just on my say-so. It would be up to me to make
that decision.'

    'Good.
Well, I mean, if you could see your way to-'

    Again
he raised a podgy hand and she was deferentially silent. 'As I said, I'm always
happy to oblige when there's a pretty woman involved.' Yes, as you said rather
a lot of times, thought Carole. 'So I think that could be the solution, don't
you?'

    'That
you give me the use of an empty beach hut?'

    'Yes.'

    'Well,
that would be very generous of you.'

    'I
would regard it as the least I could do, Carole. You took over
Quiet Harbour
from Philly Rose in the belief that you were taking over a perfect working
beach hut. You then discovered that it had a hole burned in its floor. Repairing
that is within the remit of Fether District Council - or, to be more specific,
of me, Kelvin Southwest. It is not your fault that your beach hut has been
damaged and you have paid the rental money to Philly Rose in good faith. I
would be in dereliction of my duty were I not to attempt to make amends to
you.'

    We
know all that, thought Carole impatiently. Will you please get on with it, you
boring little man? 'I would, as I say, be very grateful—'

    'Leave
it with me,' he said magisterially. 'I will find you another beach hut here on
Smalting Beach. It may not be precisely what I should do, according to the
terms of my employment by Fether District Council, but it's what I'm going to
do. Rules are there for the unimaginative foot soldiers of life. For a maverick
free spirit like myself, they are there to be broken. And I'm always prepared
to break the rules ..." He brought out his roguish smile again '. . .
particularly when there's a pretty woman involved.'

    'Well,
thank you,' said Carole, thinking that now he had announced what he was going
to do, there was nothing to stop him doing it as soon as possible and ending
what she was finding a rather awkward tete-a-tete.

    But
Kelvin Southwest was not yet ready to relinquish his hold on her. He wanted to
luxuriate for a while in his magnanimity and her gratitude. So he favoured
Carole with tales of other occasions when he'd seen his way to bending Fether
District Council's rules in the matter of beach huts.

    Eventually,
when her eyes were in serious danger of glazing over, he paused long enough for
Carole to ask, 'Will you be investigating?'

    'Investigating
what?' he asked, the wind temporarily taken out of his sails.

    'The
fire at
Quiet Harbour.
Will you be trying to find out who was
responsible for it?'

    'I
will try. I will ask around. But without much confidence that I'll find the
answer. I'm sure it was done by some kids after dark. I doubt if there were any
witnesses.'

    'But
it looks as though someone put the fire out before it could do any more
damage.'

    'Maybe,
but I shouldn't think anyone witnessed that action either.'

    'Perhaps
not.'

    'And
while we're talking of investigation, Carole . . .' A new beadiness came into his
eyes '. . . you can assure me, can you, that you had nothing to do with the
hammering in of the new nails in the floor of
Quiet Harbour?'

    'Of
course I can. Yesterday morning was the first time I'd been in the place.'

    'Yes,
yes, right you are.' Finally he rose to his feet, saying, 'Well, Carole, would
you like me to show you your new beach hut?'

    'Yes,
please . . . Kel.'

    As
she rose, he guided her out of The Copper Kettle, again with a proprietary hand
on her lower back. He grinned saucily at the waitresses as they left.

    'Oh,
what about the bill?' asked Carole when they reached the door. 'For the tea and
coffee.'

    Winking
at her and then at the waitress who'd served them, Kelvin Southwest said, 'Oh,
I have an arrangement here. I have an arrangement in a number of places in the
area, actually. I do favours for a lot of people and they're happy to do
favours for me . . . if you know what I mean. As I said, you scratch my back
..." Rather than finishing the phrase, he let out a fruity chuckle.

    Carole
recoiled inwardly. She hated to think what kind of favour Kelvin Southwest
might think was his due in exchange for the favour he was doing her.

    It
was the kind of blazing June that got the residents of Fethering talking darkly
of global warming. Mind you, every kind of climatic change got the residents of
Fethering talking darkly about global warming. A thunderstorm, a heavy fall of
snow, a sudden frost, even an unusually high wind, could start a lot of heads
shaking in the Crown and Anchor or the local supermarket Allinstore. Like most
of the English, the residents of Fethering had always used the weather as a
conversational staple. But whereas the fisherman who once peopled the village
would look gloomily up at the sky when they discussed it, the current
inhabitants, who had just parked their 4x4s, would take on the same gloomy
expressions and mention global warming. Not all of them actually believed in
it, but they knew that in Fethering mentioning global warming was de rigueur.

    The
Thursday dawned even brighter than the previous days and Carole decided that
she ought to go and investigate her new beach hut. The one to which Kelvin
Southwest had given her the key had the name
Fowey
spelled out in whorls
of rope on a board above its doorway. It was in every structural particular
identical to
Quiet Harbour,
but Carole still felt she should check the
place out. Her main aim was that, when she introduced Gaby and Lily to the
delights of Smalting Beach, she should appear completely relaxed,
au fait
with
the beach hut and its location. Almost an authentic hutter. She had already
marked down The Copper Kettle as a good place to fill Lily up with ice creams
and fizzy drinks. (She'd never allowed Stephen to have fizzy drinks when he was
growing up, but her attitude to her granddaughter was more relaxed. After all,
one of the essential clauses in the grandparents' charter was the right to
spoil.)

    There
was also something new she wanted to introduce to
Fowey.
In common with
Quiet Harbour,
the hut only contained two chairs, also director's chairs,
suggesting that perhaps they were equipment supplied by Fether District Council
for the original renters. And it had so happened that, driving her Renault past
a garden centre the previous day, Carole had seen on display a tiny child-size
director's chair. Its wooden structure was painted pink and the seat and back
were made of pink canvas.

    The
normal reaction of Carole Seddon to such an object would have been to snort
while the phrase 'overpriced rubbish' formed in her mind, but the existence of
Lily was having strange effects on her normal reactions. In the control of an
irresistible power, she found herself parking her Renault outside the garden
centre, going straight in and buying one of the small pink director's chairs.
It was indeed overpriced, but Carole didn't let that worry her. She just knew
that her granddaughter would love her own personal seat.

    On a
heady roll, she also found herself going to the Fethering Allinstore and buying
a Big Beach Bucket Bag. Inside the red net sack was a big red bucket, which
contained a smaller red bucket with crenellated indentations, a blue plastic
spade and a selection of brightly coloured sand moulds in the shapes of a fish,
a crab, a boat and a star.

    Carole
didn't want to risk the danger of Lily seeing these new purchases before they
got to Smalting Beach, deciding that their maximum effect would be produced if
her granddaughter found them when she entered the beach hut. So they needed to
be planted there. Which was another reason for her to pay a visit to
Fowey
that Thursday morning. Also Gulliver could do with a change from Fethering
Beach for his walk.

    Just
as Carole was about to leave, Jude appeared at the front door of High Tor. In deference
to the weather, she only wore one chiffon scarf over her yellow T-shirt and
denim skirt. Perched on her blond topknot was a battered straw hat.