Turning the Tide (19 page)

‘Lovely. Enjoy that, won’t you? Unfortunately it looks as if I won’t be able to hold on to my business long enough to see it.’

‘Harry,’ he told her softly, ‘you’re not in a position to be picky, are you? Listen, this film festival might be a good thing; if Matthew gets involved, it will take his mind off his claim for a while. Besides, when did you last do anything that felt like fun?’

Albeit a somewhat masochistic form of fun, she thought. Just then she noticed the pretty black girl from the young and trendies hovering on the edge of her vision.

‘Miss Watling?’

Harry nodded.

‘Sorry to interrupt. My name’s Corinne Akoley from
Cruising Monthly
.
I wondered if you could spare a few moments to help us with an article we’re preparing for the magazine. This is such a beautiful, quiet spot I can’t believe it isn’t better known. Is it always this easy to get a mooring here?’

Harry started opening and closing her mouth and Jimi gave her a little shove.

‘Go on,’ he whispered close to her ear. ‘It’s started to happen. The tide’s turning in your favour.’

Chapter Sixteen

The way Jimi was pacing up and down the room you had to feel sorry for him, thought Matthew. One thing was for sure; neither of them would starve. Jimi’s catering had been a little on the ambitious side, to say the least. Who in Little Spitmarsh could be bothered to listen to the plans for a film festival, let alone get behind the idea? It was generous of the couple from Walton House to donate the use of their large dining room. Just a shame the gesture was wasted.

Matthew looked at his watch and was about to suggest they get back to Samphire, when the double doors swung open and everyone started piling in. Frankie and Trevor, the arty woman from Jetsam, Paradise Café’s owner, and a few faces less well known to him helloed and waved at Jimi before grabbing a seat. His new best friends, Carmen and Roy Moult, barely glanced at him because they were so busy beaming at Jimi. Even George, with a wary-looking Harry, shuffled in at the back of the pack. Matthew had to blink when Jimi smiled at Harry and caught her eye briefly before she hurriedly tucked herself beside George; but he could still see enough of her to notice that she had ditched the dungarees and put on a clean tee shirt. What was that about?

How the hell had Jimi charmed Harry into turning up today? How, come to think of it, had he persuaded any of these busy people to come and listen to his half-baked plans? Snapping out of his reverie, Matthew found everyone waiting for Jimi to begin.

‘There’s wine and mineral water on the table, so do help yourselves and, because I didn’t want us to make decisions on empty stomachs, I’ve created some light snacks to keep us going.’

On cue Fabian, one of the applicants he and Jimi were trying out for a waiting job at Samphire, arrived with some tempura dishes to start them off. One look at all the eager faces showed Matthew that Jimi’s popularity stakes had soared still further; he literally had them eating out of his hand! The group drooled over delicately battered morsels of shellfish, baby courgettes, sweet potatoes and spring onions; or, in Frankie and Trevor’s case, Fabian. Only when the collective oohs, aahs and few orgasmic hmms abated was Jimi able to make himself heard.

Matthew shook his head. The guy certainly had charisma, but he’d feel a lot more comfortable about him if Gina didn’t spend half her rare phone calls talking about him. Nevertheless he’d put his finger on something important; if revitalisation of the town wasn’t to mean Little Spitmarsh becoming an anonymous clone or losing its salty brand of charm, then the people who actually lived there needed some sort of ownership of the direction the town was heading in. The only possible effect of building a strong sense of community that Matthew could foresee was that Little Spitmarsh might shake off its permanent sense of melancholy. And if that was the worst that happened, he for one would welcome the change.

Considering that few of those assembled had experience of making action plans or strategies, they proved themselves a willing bunch united by a common hope to raise Little Spitmarsh’s profile. Little time was wasted, even Harry didn’t argue and nearly everyone was able to help in some way.

‘Well done,’ said Jimi, closing the meeting. ‘Okay, so that’s the week leading up to the bank holiday with the first screening at Walton House, thanks to Fiona and Paul. And thanks to them, too, for so generously allowing us to use the excellent facilities here.’

The young couple running the new hotel smiled and acknowledged a ripple of spontaneous applause.

‘The week after, the Palace on the Pier will accommodate us and screen the second choice on their regular film night.’

At least there was no chance, thought Matthew, of that particular concrete carbuncle being washed away. The Palace on the Pier was an especially unlovely slab of a theatre built in anticipation of Little Spitmarsh becoming the next Las Vegas. There was a rumour that Elvis himself had once played a gig there incognito. One of the cleaners had claimed to have seen his ghost warming up on stage; but, since that same cleaner had later confessed to a problem with substance misuse, no one else liked to admit that the strains of ‘Suspicious Minds’ could sometimes be heard on the wind.

‘The grand finale will take place at Samphire, with an early screening and a buffet afterwards. Roy, have you got enough people to help you deliver questionnaires? Good. And we’ll have collection points at Jetsam, Crimps and the newsagent. Yes, Trevor?’

Trevor stood up to a look of sheer adoration from Frankie. A new sense of responsibility was doing them good. ‘Sorry we can’t help with the collection, but we don’t want Kirstie and the pups to be disturbed. Speaking of which, do you mind if we head off? We need to check on them and we’ve also got to put the finishing touches to some special orders for a wedding. We’ve been rushed off our feet since that article in
What’s Hot
.
’

Jimi waved them off. ‘No problem, guys. And everyone, keep spreading the word about Frankie and Trevor’s great work. They deserve some recognition at last. All right, folks, we’re done here. Thanks for turning up.’

As people began to drain their glasses and collect their belongings, Matthew was not going to let one person escape without a word. ‘Hello, Harry,’ he said, noting that both she and George had stuck to mineral water. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

Matthew found himself wishing Harry didn’t always look so tense when he spoke to her, but then again her instincts were probably sound. At least she didn’t look as if she was about to yell and George, hovering behind her, wasn’t scowling, so Matthew felt fairly safe.

‘Can I get you a drink or something?’ he said, really wanting to talk to her but, at the same time, feeling a bit shabby about offering her an olive branch in one hand when he still had the charter that could finish her business off in the other.

Harry turned her troubled face up to him. ‘Matthew, I can’t think why you would possibly buy a drink for someone you suspect of being an arsonist, so don’t even try to kid yourself that I’m here on your account. If this was just your idea, I would have found something more enjoyable to do, like having a root canal filling. Oh, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that the highlight of the film festival coincides with the end of your six-week deadline. But we’re not through yet, so don’t bank on making it a double celebration, will you?’

Nice timing. Thanks for that Jimi
.
He was tempted to point out that he could have made it much harder for her. With a stay of execution, he hoped she could work out that what was really best for Watling’s was for her to take the money he would offer for the land he needed. That would leave her with sufficient funds to operate a smaller outfit, if she still wanted to play at running a boat yard. He was thinking of throwing caution to the winds and telling her her fortune, when he saw a glimmer of light in her cloudy grey eyes.

‘Hi, Harry,’ said Jimi, ‘it’s good to see you here. What do you think?’

Harry sighed. ‘It doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? You only had to look round the room to see how much support you’ve got. As for the finale at Samphire, I’m sure it will be amazing and your food’s terrific, but I can’t afford to eat there and I bet not many of the others who came today can either.’

No surprises there, thought Matthew, just the usual Harry line. But then she raised a hint of a smile and held up her arms to Jimi in a gesture of surrender.

‘It’s all right. Even I could use a little froth sometimes, so when I’m not too busy at the yard I’ll try to do what I can for the film festival. Is that okay?’

Jimi grinned, took the small hand she was offering and dropped a kiss on her head.

Well, fuck me, thought Matthew, who would have believed it? What was it about Jimi Tan which made him so popular with women? Then he noticed George looking very green around the gills. Jimi might have won a few fans, but George certainly wasn’t one of them.

After an absolutely manic Saturday, Frankie had left Trevor in bed whilst he rushed out early to buy the Sunday papers. Fortunately Trevor slept like a log, so Frankie had even been able to prepare a breakfast tray to take up to him without waking him up. To avoid further distractions he’d also fed Kirstie and left her contentedly tending to the pups, whilst Phil was in seventh heaven with a Duchy Original sausage. The less Trevor had to worry about the better.

Setting down a tray of perfectly scrambled egg, sausage and some granary toast, he poured black coffee for both of them and sat beside Trevor, still half-asleep, to peruse the supplements. Satisfied that they contained nothing to raise Trevor’s blood pressure, Frankie could contain his excitement no longer.

‘Look, Trevor, it’s you!’ he said triumphantly, waving the photo of a pensive-looking Trevor outside the shop. ‘And just listen to this! “With its high-gloss black-painted exterior and a window display where the rich, saturated colours of exotic blooms mingle artfully with the muted tones of
objets trouvés
, you might expect Black Narcissus to be at the core of London’s cutting edge. But step inside and you quickly realise that this is a place which is driven by quality and service and not the fickleness of trends. Run by Trevor Dillon and Frankie Heath, Black Narcissus is a colourful and extravagant affair in one of the east coast’s best-kept-secret towns.” Trevor?’

Thrilled that the coverage was so much better than he’d anticipated, Frankie glanced across to see that his partner had gone as white as the sheets. This was no time for Trevor to panic. ‘Come on now, Trevor,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t just sit there, eat your egg. You know you won’t like it if it gets cold. You’re worrying too much. It’s time to start enjoying ourselves. Stop worrying, start celebrating.’

As Trevor’s worried expression was replaced by a smile of genuine happiness, Frankie felt a huge burden lift away.

‘Why not? Yes, you’re right, Frankie. We’ve worked for this, we deserve our success. Let’s make the most of it. What harm can it do?’ Trevor lifted his coffee cup, then paused before taking a sip. ‘We haven’t seen Harry for ages; I think it’s time we asked her round.’

Harry shook her head and made a rapid adjustment to the glossy makeover which had transformed the seedy shop formerly known as The Flowerpot Men into a celebrity florist’s.

Along with the dispirited old shop front Trevor and Frankie had shed their anonymity, emerging flamboyantly from their previously low-key existence.

‘We’re liberating Little Spitmarsh from the tyranny of clichéd carnations,’ Frankie had told her with great delight when, to her pleased surprise, he’d dropped by to invite her to the celebration they had planned for the pups. ‘And talking of liberation,’ he’d quipped, almost blowing the new spirit of reconciliation between them, ‘you didn’t send George round to the restaurant with a can of petrol, did you? Oh, don’t look like that, Harry. Half the reason we’ve been frightened to ring you is because we knew you’d give us another tongue-lashing about Matthew Corrigan. He really is only trying to improve the area. Think about what all those celebrity chefs have done for Cornwall.’

‘Yep,’ Harry shot back, having had plenty of time to do just that. ‘Pushed the property prices sky high so that even their own staff can’t afford to live there.’

‘And given a boost to all the local suppliers, the food and drink industry, tourism and disadvantaged young people,’ Frankie went on. ‘Come on, Harry,’ he pleaded, ‘Little Spitmarsh needed a champion. I thought that’s why you turned up to the film festival meeting, because you were coming round to the idea. If Matthew and his chef are helping to reinvent the place, that’s got to be good. Being on the coast alone isn’t good enough any more; no one’s ever coming to Little Spitmarsh just to sit on the beach.’

Harry didn’t interrupt, not when they’d just started talking again. And, standing outside Trevor and Frankie’s front door, now painted a highly-polished black like the glossy shop, she could see Frankie’s point.
You’re more worried about keeping this lot to yourself than promoting the town’s well-being.
That’s what Matthew had said. He’d accused her of acting selfishly; but was it so wrong to want the place where she had grown up, where all her memories were, to remain the same?

When an excited Frankie welcomed her in, smiling broadly, she was unexpectedly relieved that they hadn’t become too smart to include her in their fun. For a horrible moment she felt quite tearful, realising how much she’d been looking forward to time out and having a play with the puppies.