Bones Under The Beach Hut (4 page)

    Ted
Crisp had even extended the premises. At one side of the sea-facing frontage
there now stood what looked like a Victorian conservatory. Though used by the pub's
ordinary customers - particularly on a fine June day when all the doors and
windows were open - it could be shut off from the main bar area. This was now
the 'Function Room', available for wedding receptions and other private
parties. There was no way round the fact: the Crown and Anchor was doing really
good business.

    Though
deprived of his traditional excuse for grumpiness, Ted Crisp was not about to
change his habitual mien. From behind the bar he looked up gloomily at Carole
and Jude's entrance. 'Two large Chilean Chardonnays, I assume,' he pronounced,
in the manner of a newsreader reporting a tsunami.

    'Cheer
up, Ted, it might never happen,' said Jude.

    'How
d'you know it hasn't already?' he demanded, as he handed the glasses across.

    'Getting
a lot of bookings for the Function Room?'

    'Mustn't
grumble.'

    'But
you still will, won't you, Ted?' That was rewarded by a grunt.

    'What's
good for lunch?' asked Carole.

    'Ed
says the Dover sole's to die for.'

    'Ooh,
that sounds nice.'

    'Shall
I take your order?' Ted reached for a pad of paper.

    'Not
quite yet. We've got a friend joining us,' Jude explained.

    'Please
yourself,' said Ted, in a manner that people who didn't know him so well would
have regarded as rude, and he turned to serve another customer.

    In
spite of the sunny weather Carole and Jude decided they'd sit inside. The
alcove tables in the bar were less full than those in the sun and, although
their conversation with Philly Rose was not exactly confidential, a degree of
privacy would be welcome.

    They
had hardly sat down before she arrived, looking around the bar and waving when
she saw Jude. Philly Rose was small, thin as a whippet, with almost ash-blond
hair and surprisingly dark brown eyes. She wore a sleeveless
eau de Nil
top over white jeans and red Converse trainers.

    Once
they'd been introduced, Carole went to get the woman a drink, just a mineral
water with ice and lemon. And they thought they might as well order food at the
same time so all three opted for the recommended Dover sole.

    As
she returned from the bar, Carole saw that Philly and Jude were deep in
conversation. She felt a familiar pang that was almost too resigned to be
jealousy, just a wish that she had her neighbour's ability to put people at
their ease. For Carole dialogue rarely flowed, it was something that had to be
carefully constructed and worked at.

    But
whatever intimacies the two women may have been sharing up until that point,
Jude immediately moved on to the subject of
Quiet Harbour.
Carole began
by saying how grateful she was for the opportunity to use the beach hut.

    'No
problem,' said Philly wryly. 'I'm afraid I'm not going to need it now. And I
need the money.' So she wasn't attempting to hide her financial problems.

    'But
Carole did find something odd in the beach hut when she got there,' prompted
Jude, and Carole repeated exactly what she had seen in the place.

    'A
fire?' asked Philly in puzzlement.

    'Yes.
A fire which had been lit underneath the floor. And which could have caused a
lot of damage if someone hadn't put it out. You didn't notice that when you
were last there, did you, Philly?'

    'No,
certainly not. Mind you, it is a month or so since I was at
Quiet Harbour.
We only went a few times after our rental had been confirmed. We went to kit it
out with everything, but then ... I mean, I've walked past it often enough
since then with the dogs, but I haven't gone inside. Not since . . .' Her
silence was eloquent of the pain she still felt about her boyfriend's
departure.

    Jude
broke in gently, asking, 'Have you heard much talk in Smalting about vandalism
to the beach huts?'

    Philly
shook her head. 'Nothing specific I can think of. I mean, there are always
plenty of old farts sounding off in The Crab Inn about the disgraceful, loutish
behaviour of the young, but it all seems to be pretty generalized, you know,
how the country's gone to pot since the war and how they should bring back
national service. Anyway, that lot of old fogies would regard dropping a lolly
stick on the prom as vandalism.'

    'How
many keys are there to
Quiet Harbour?'
asked Carole suddenly.

    'We
were given two when we signed for it. I presume the Council keep duplicates in
case they need access.'

    'Jude
only passed one on to me.'

    'Yes,
well . . .' The blush on the girl's cheeks stood out against the whiteness of
her hair. 'I had one and, er, Mark had the other.'

    'So
you reckon he went off with his when he left?'

    'I
don't know. I expect he did.'

    'Haven't
you looked through his things?'

    'He
didn't leave that much and ..." Emotion threatened. 'No, I haven't looked
through his things.'

    'So
he probably still has got his key?'

    Jude,
whose brown eyes had been flashing messages to Carole to soften up her
interrogation, interceded. 'I don't see that who had keys matters much, because
the fire was clearly started from outside the hut.'

    'Yes,
I'm sorry. I was just asking for information.' Carole had got the bit between
her teeth and was not about to back off from what she was beginning to think of
as her investigation. 'So, if you haven't been in
Quiet Harbour
recently, Philly, presumably it wasn't you who put down the carpet'

    'Carpet?'
the young woman repeated wretchedly.

    'Yes,
the green carpet that was laid over the floorboards.'

    'Oh,
that
carpet,' said Philly, although Carole felt sure she was hearing of it
for the first time. 'Yes, we had it ready to put down there.'

    'But
you didn't put it down?'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'It
had been put down after the fire, because the carpet was unmarked. So, if you
haven't been to the beach hut since the fire, it means you can't have put it
down.'

    'Oh,
I'm sorry, you had me confused,' said Philly, apparently relieved that she now
understood the line of questioning. 'Yes, I did put the carpet down. I'd
forgotten. I just dropped in one morning last week when I was walking the dogs,
and the carpet was rolled up in there, so I unrolled it and laid it down.'

    'And
you didn't notice that the floorboards had been burnt through?'

    'No,
I didn't,' replied Philly, having regained her self-possession.

    Carole
opened her mouth for another question, but caught the deterrent look in Jude's
eye and restrained herself. At that moment the direction of the conversation
was diverted by the arrival of their Dover soles, served by a grinning and
pigtailed Zosia who greeted Carole and Jude warmly.

    When
talk resumed, it was about the differences between Smalting and Fethering, a
subject on which Philly Rose had some amusing insights. Though even humour
could not disguise her underlying melancholy. She was in a state of shock,
nearly two months on and still unable to come to terms with no longer having
Mark in her life.

    'Sometimes,'
she admitted, 'I do find the gentility of Smalting almost suffocating. It's
like being permanently at a posh dinner party. I'm constantly afraid of saying
the wrong thing. And as a result there's a strong temptation to say or do
something totally outrageous.'

    Tethering
can be a bit like that too,' said Jude.

    'Can
it?' asked Carole, genuinely surprised.

    'Oh,
come on, some of the types round the Yacht Club are pretty stuffy, not to
mention all the old biddies who play bridge every afternoon.'

    'Yes,
I suppose so.'

    'Anyway,
Carole and I aren't like that,' said Jude with a grin. 'We are representatives
of the Bohemian sector of Fethering.'

    Her
neighbour didn't think that was probably true, not of herself anyway. It was
certainly the first time in her life that anyone had ever described Carole
Seddon as 'Bohemian' and though she suspected that Jude was teasing, she found
she was rather attracted to the idea.

    'Do
you find that the locals in Smalting have accepted you, Philly?' asked Jude.

    'Oh,
I don't think "accepted" quite. That takes a good few years.'

    'And
they'd feel happier if your family had been there for three generations,'
suggested Carole.

    'Well,
no, not really, because none of the people in Smalting have actually been there
that long. House prices are far too high for the locals. The place has been
bought up mostly by retired couples with whacking great pensions. Mind you,
even if they've only been there a couple of years, they still make you feel
your lowly status as an "incomer".'

    'Does
it get you down?' asked Jude gently.

    That
prompted a rueful grin from Philly. 'It used not too. We used to find it quite
funny, giggle about it. But that was . . . well... It does get me down a bit.
Doesn't take much, I'm afraid, to get me down these days.' Again Carole and
Jude could sense the depth of her pain.

    Conversation
flowed easily enough for the rest of the meal, but they kept to uncontroversial
subjects of local interest. When Jude raised the question of dessert or coffee,
Philly Rose looked at her watch and said, 'Sorry, I must dash. I have actually
- thank God - had a commission designing a brochure and I'm up against a
deadline.'

    'Good
you've got some work,' said Jude.

    'Yes.
Anyway, must be off.' She reached for a wallet in the back pocket of her white
jeans. 'Now how much will my share be?'

    'No,
my idea, my treat,' said Jude.

    'Well,
if you're sure . . But Philly didn't take much convincing. 'I'm very grateful,
because things—'

    'It's
fine,' Jude interrupted sensitively. 'By the way, when we last spoke you said
you were thinking of selling the house. Is that still your plan?'

    'I
think it must be. I can't really see much alternative.' And a new level of
bleakness came into her brown eyes.

    'Things'll
sort themselves out,' said Jude.

    'Yeah.'
Philly's response was almost brusque, as if she was embarrassed by having shown
how much she was hurting. 'Well, I can't thank you enough, Jude. And lovely to
meet you, Carole. I must be off.'

    'Oh,
one thing,' Carole interposed. About the fire at
Quiet Harbour
- will
you report that?'

    'Report
it?'

    'To
whoever it should be reported to. Someone at the Fether District Council,
presumably.'

    'Oh.'
Philly seemed nonplussed. Clearly the idea didn't appeal to her. 'Would you
mind doing that, Carole? I mean, you're the one who's renting the beach hut
now.'

    'Yes,
but am I renting it officially? I mean, as far as the Fether District Council
is concerned?'

    'They
are aware that I've made an agreement with you.'

    Are
they? thought Carole. I wish I'd known that earlier. It would have saved me a
good deal of anxiety. 'So it's all official, is it?'

    'Well
. . . sort of.'

    'What
does that mean?'

    'The
guy who looks after the beach huts for the Council - his name's Kelvin
Southwest - said he shouldn't really allow it, but he'd stretch a point.'

    'Why?'

    Philly
Rose blushed. 'Well, I'm almost embarrassed to say this, but I think it was
because he took a shine to me.'

    'Oh?'

    'Yes,
I'm rather afraid our Kelvin sees himself as something of a "ladies'
man".'

    'Oh?'

    'Anyway,
Carole, would you mind contacting him about the fire? His number's on the
Fether District Council website. Go into "Leisure" and he's under
"Outdoor Recreation Office".'