A season for change…?

Beth Reynolds loved growing up close to Eleanor’s Emporium – a brick-a-back shop full of wonders on Lavender Bay. Devastated to learn that Eleanor has died, she returns home from London immediately and is shocked to discover that the elderly lady has left the shop to her!

Vowing to restore it to its former glory, she only intends to stay until the end of the season. Although the longer she spends in the colourful seaside town, the more she falls back in love with everything she left behind…and quite possibly, with her best friend Eliza’s older brother, local chef Sam Barnes!

Why didn’t she notice he was quite this gorgeous before? And will their spring fling be enough to convince her to stay?

Don’t miss Spring at Lavender Bay, the first book in the enchanting Lavender Bay trilogy! Perfect for fans of Trisha Ashley, Rachael Lucas and Hilary Boyd.

SARAH BENNETT

has been reading for as long as she can remember. Raised in a family of bookworms, her love affair with books of all genres has culminated in the ultimate Happy Ever After: getting to write her own stories to share with others.

Born and raised in a military family, she is happily married to her own Officer (who is sometimes even A Gentleman). Home is wherever he lays his hat, and life has taught them both that the best family is the one you create from friends as well as relatives.

When not reading or writing, Sarah is a devotee of afternoon naps and sailing the high seas, but only on vessels large enough to accommodate a casino and a choice of restaurants.

You can connect with her via twitter @Sarahlou_writes or on Facebook www.facebook.com/SarahBennettAuthor

Also by

Sarah Bennett

The Butterfly Cove Series

Sunrise at Butterfly Cove

Wedding Bells at Butterfly Cove

Christmas at Butterfly Cove

The Lavender Bay Series

Spring at Lavender Bay

Summer at Lavender Bay

Snowflakes at Lavender Bay

Spring at Lavender Bay

Sarah Bennett

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Sarah Bennett 2018

Sarah Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 978-0-00-828132-8

This book is for every girl who struggled to find her place in the world.

And for every woman who finally found it.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Author Bio

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Acknowledgements

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘Sort this for me, Beth.’ A green project folder thumped down on the side of Beth Reynold’s desk, sending her mouse arrow skittering across the screen and scattering the calculation in her head. Startled, she glanced up to see a wide expanse of pink-shirted back already retreating from her corner desk pod. Darren Green was her team leader, and the laziest person to grace the twelfth floor of Buckland Sheridan in the three years she’d been working there. She eyed the folder with a growing sense of trepidation. Whatever he’d dumped on her—she glanced at the clock—at quarter to four on a Friday afternoon was unlikely to be good news. Well, it would just have to wait. Sick and tired of Darren expecting her to drop everything, she ground her teeth and forced herself to ignore the file and focus on the spreadsheet in front of her.

Fifteen minutes later, with the workbook updated, saved and an extract emailed to the client, Beth straightened up from her screen. Her right ankle ached from where she’d hooked her foot behind one of the chair legs and there was a distinct grumble from the base of her spine. Shuffling her bottom back from where she’d perched on the edge of the cushioned seat, she gave herself a mental telling off. There was no point in the company spending money on a half-decent orthopaedic chair when she managed to contort herself into the worst possible sitting positions.

Her eyes strayed to the left where the file lurked like a malevolent toad. If she turned just so, she could accidentally catch it with her elbow and knock it into the wastepaper basket sitting beside her desk. Brushing off the tempting idea, she grabbed her mug and stood up. Her eyes met Ravi’s over the ugly blue partition dividing their desks and she waggled her cup at him. ‘Fancy a brew?’

He glanced at his watch, then laughed, showing a set of gorgeous white teeth. ‘Why am I even checking the time; it’s not like I’m going to refuse a coffee, is it?’

Everything about Ravi was gorgeous, she mused on the way to the kitchenette which served their half of the huge open-plan office. From his thick black hair and matching dark eyes, to the hint of muscle beneath his close-fitting white shirt—the only thing more gorgeous than Ravi was his boyfriend, Callum.

Though she’d never admit it to anyone other than Eliza and Libby, she had a huge crush on her co-worker. Not that she would, or could, ever do anything about it, but that wasn’t the point. Ravi being unobtainable and entirely uninterested in her as anything other than a friend and co-worker made him perfectly safe. And it gave her a good excuse for not being interested in anyone else. An excuse to avoid dipping her badly-scorched toes back into the dating pool. Once had been more than enough.

Until she recovered from the unrequited attraction, there wasn’t room in her heart for anyone else. She could marvel at the length of the black lashes framing his eyes and go home alone, entirely content to do so. He was the best non-boyfriend she’d had since Mr Lassiter, her Year Ten history teacher. He also provided a foil on those rare occasions she spoke to her mother these days. Lying to her didn’t sit well with Beth, but it was better than the alternative—being nagged to ‘get back on the horse’, to ‘put herself out there’, to ‘settle down’.

Eliza and Libby knew all about both the hopeless crush and her using a fake relationship with Ravi as a shield against her mother’s interference. And if they didn’t entirely support the white lie, they at least understood the reasons behind it. Just like they’d known everything about her since the first day they’d started at primary school together. They knew what her mum was like, and they understood why Beth preferred the harmless pretence of an unrequited crush. She’d never been one for boyfriends growing up, and the more her mum had pushed her, the more she’d dug her heels in.

Beth had been eight years old when her dad had walked out with not so much as a backward glance. Her mum had spent the rest of Beth’s formative years obsessed with finding a replacement for him—only one who could provide the financial security she craved. Before he’d left, there’d been too many times her mum had gone to pay a bill only to find the meagre contents of their account missing. If Allan Reynolds hadn’t frittered it away in the bookies, he’d blown it on his next get-rich-quick scheme. Given the uncertainty of those early years, she had some sympathy for her mum’s position. If only she’d been less mercenary about it. A flush of embarrassed heat caught Beth off guard as she remembered the not-so whispered comments about Linda Reynolds’ shameless campaign to catch the eye—and the wallet—of newly-widowed Reg Walters, her now husband.

Determined not to emulate Linda, Beth had clung fiercely to the idea of true love. She had even thought she’d found it for a while, only to have her heart broken in the most clinical fashion the previous summer. Trying to talk to her mother about it had been an exercise in futility. Linda had no time for broken hearts. Move on, there’s plenty more fish in the sea. She’d even gone so far as to encourage Beth to flirt with her useless lump of a boss for God’s sake. Beth shuddered at the very idea. In the end, she’d resorted to making up a romance with Ravi just to keep Linda off her back.

Beth clattered the teaspoon hard against Ravi’s coffee cup, scattering her wandering thoughts. Balancing the tea and coffee mugs in hand, she returned to her coveted corner of the office. People had offered her bribes for her spot, but she’d always refused, even if sitting under the air-conditioning tract meant she spent half the summer in a thick cardigan. Her cubicle with a view over the grimy rooftops of London was worth its weight in gold. When her work threatened to overwhelm her, she needed only to swivel on her chair and glance out at the world beyond to remind herself how much she’d achieved. The ant-sized people on the pavement scurried around, travelling through the arteries and veins of the city, pumping lifeblood into the heart of the capital.

Moving to London had been another sop to Linda. Based on her mother’s opinion, a stranger would believe Lavender Bay, the place where Beth had been born and raised, was akin to hell on earth. A shabby little seaside town where nothing happened. She’d moved there after marrying Beth’s father and being stuck on the edge of the country had chafed her raw, leaving her feeling like the world was passing her by. When her new husband, Reg, had whisked her off to an apartment in Florida, weeks before Beth’s fourteenth birthday, all of Linda’s dreams had come true. She’d never stopped to consider her daughter’s dreams in the process.

Though she’d never been foolish enough to offer a contradictory opinion, Beth had always loved Lavender Bay. The fresh scent of the sea blowing in through her bedroom window; the sweeter, stickier smells of candy floss and popcorn during high season. Running free on the beach, or exploring the woods and rolling fields which provided a backdrop to their little town. And, of course, there was Eleanor.

The older woman had taken Beth under her wing and given her a Saturday morning job at the quirky seaside emporium she owned. The emporium had always been a place of wonder to Beth, with new secrets to be discovered on the crowded shelves. Hiding out in there had also given her a haven from Linda’s never-ending parade of boyfriends. Beth suspected she’d been offered the few hours work more to provide Eleanor with some companionship than any real requirement for help.

When it had looked like Beth would have to quit school because of Linda and Reg’s relocation plans, Eleanor had intervened and offered to take her in. Linda had bitten her hand off, not wanting the third-wheel of an awkward teenage daughter to interrupt her plans. It hadn’t mattered a jot that a single woman nearing seventy might not be the ideal person to raise a shy fourteen-year-old. Thankfully, Eleanor had been young at heart and delighted to have Beth live with her. She’d treated her as the daughter she’d never had, and Beth had soaked up the love she offered like a sponge.

Under Eleanor’s steady, gentle discipline Beth had finally started to come into her own, Desperate not to disappoint her mum in the way everyone else had seemed to do, Beth worked hard to get first the GCSEs and then A levels she’d needed in order to go to university. With no real career prospects in Lavender Bay, she’d headed for the capital, much to Linda’s delight. Her mother’s influence had been too pervasive and those early lessons in needing a man to complete her had stuck fast. When Charlie had approached her one night in a club, Beth had been primed and ready to fall in love.

For the first couple of years working at the prestigious project management company of Buckland Sheridan, she’d convinced herself that these were her own dreams she was following, and that her hard work and diligence would pay off. Lately she’d come to the realisation she was being used whilst others reaped the rewards. Demotivated and demoralised, she was well and truly stuck in a cubicle-shaped rut.

Raising the mug of tea to her lips, Beth watched as the street lights flickered on below, highlighting the lucky workers spilling out of the surrounding office blocks. Some rushing towards the tube station at the end of the road, others moving with equal enthusiasm in the opposite direction towards the pubs and restaurants, rubbing their hands together at the thought of twofers and happy hour. Good luck to them. Those heady nights in crowded bars with Charlie and his friends had never really suited her.

Checking the calendar, Beth bit back a sigh. She was overdue a weekend visit to the bay, not that Eleanor would ever scold or complain about how much time it had been since she’d last seen her. She’d tuck Beth onto the sofa with a cup of tea and listen avidly to all the goings on in her life. Not that there’d been much of anything to report other than work lately. Unless she counted the disastrous Christmas visit to see her mum and Reg in Florida, and Beth had spent the entire month of January trying to forget it.

Even surrounded by Charlie’s upper-class pals she’d never felt more like a fish out of water than she had during that week of perma-tanned brunches and barbecues. She would much rather have gone back to Lavender Bay and Eleanor’s loving warmth, but Linda had organised a huge party to celebrate her 10th wedding anniversary to Reg, and insisted she needed Beth by her side. Having people believe she had the perfect family had always mattered more to Linda than making it a reality.

With a silent promise to call Eleanor for a long chat on Sunday, Beth drained her tea and turned back to her work. The dreaded contents of the file Darren had dumped on her had to be better than thinking about than the surprise date her mum had set her up with on New Year’s Eve. She glanced across the partition between their desks. Ravi might be gay, but at least he had all his own teeth and didn’t dye his hair an alarming shade Beth had only been able to describe to a hysterical Eliza and Libby as ‘marmalade’.

Ravi caught her eye and smiled. ‘Hey, Beth?’ He pointed to the phone tucked against his ear. ‘Callum wants to know if you’re busy on Sunday. We’re having a few friends around for a bite to eat. Nothing fancy.’ They exchanged a grin. Nothing fancy in Callum’s terms would be four courses followed by a selection of desserts.

‘Sounds great. Can I let you guys know tomorrow?’ It wasn’t like she had anything else planned, but going on Darren’s past record whatever was hiding in the file he’d dumped on her would likely mean she’d be working most of the weekend.

Ravi nodded and conveyed her reply into the handset. He rolled his eyes at something Callum said in reply and Beth propped her hands on her hips. ‘If he’s telling you about this great guy he knows who’d be just perfect for me then I’m not coming. Not even for a double helping of dessert.’ The only person more disastrous at matchmaking than her mother was Callum.

Her friend laughed. ‘You’re busted!’ he said into the phone then tilted it away from his mouth to say to Beth in a teasing, sing-song voice, ‘He’s a very fine man with good prospects. All his own teeth!’ She closed her eyes, regretting confessing all about the New Year’s date to Ravi on their first day back after the Christmas break. He’d never let her live it down.

She shook her head. ‘Aren’t they all? I’ll message you tomorrow.’ Which was as good as accepting the invitation. There was always a good mix at their parties and the atmosphere relaxed. Leaving Ravi to finish off his conversation, she turned her attention to the dreaded file.

Three hours and several coins added to the swear jar on her desk later, she decided she had enough information together to be able to complete the required draft report and presentation at home. Darren had left the office on the dot of five, laughing with his usual pack of cronies as they made their way towards the lifts. He’d not even bothered to check in with her on his way out, assuming she would do whatever was necessary to ensure their department was ready for the client meeting on Tuesday. The project had been passed to him by one of the directors a fortnight previously, but either through incompetence or arrogance he’d chosen to do absolutely nothing with it.

Stuffing the file, a stack of printouts, and her phone into the backpack she used in lieu of a handbag, Beth swapped her heels for the comfy trainers under her desk and disconnected her laptop from the desk terminal. Coat on and scarf tucked around the lower half of her face, she waved goodnight to Sandie, the cleaner, and trudged out of the office.

The worst of the commuting crowd had thinned so at least she had a seat on the train as it hurtled through the dank Victorian tunnels of the Underground. The heating had been turned up full blast against the February chill but, like most of the hardened travellers around her, Beth ignored the sweat pooling at the base of her spine and kept her eyes glued on the screen of her phone. Music filled her ears from the buds she’d tucked in the moment she’d stepped on board, drowning out the scritch-scritch of a dozen other people doing exactly the same thing.

She never felt further from home than when crammed in with a load of strangers who made ignoring each other into an artform. In Lavender Bay everyone waved, nodded or smiled at each other, and passing someone you knew without stopping for a ten-minute chat was unthinkable. After three years in London, there were people she recognised on her regular commute, but they’d never acknowledged each other. Nothing would point a person out as not belonging faster than being so gauche as to strike up a conversation on public transport.

The anonymity had appealed at first, a sign of the sophistication of London where people were too busy doing important stuff to waste their precious time with inane conversations. Not knowing the daily minutiae of her friends and neighbours, the who’d said what to whom, was something she’d never expected to miss quite so much. Having everyone in her business had seemed unbearable throughout her teenage years, especially with a mother like Linda. But on nights like this, knowing even the people who shared the sprawling semi in the leafy suburbs where she rented a room for an eyewatering amount wouldn’t be interested in anything other than whether she’d helped herself to their milk, loneliness rode her hard.

Cancelling the impending pity party, Beth swayed with the motion of the train as she made her way towards the doors when they approached her station. A quick text to Eliza and Libby would chase the blues away. The odds of either of them having Friday night plans were as slim as her own so a Skype chat could probably be arranged. Smiling at the thought, she stepped out of the shelter of the station and into the freezing January evening air.

Clad in a pair of her cosiest pyjamas, Beth settled cross-legged in the centre of her bed as she waited for her laptop to connect to the app. The piles of papers she’d been working from for the past hour had been replaced by the reheated takeaway she’d picked up on her way home, and a large bottle of ice-cold Sauvignon Blanc. With perfect timing, Eliza’s sweetly-beaming face popped up in one corner of her screen just as Beth shovelled a forkful of chow mien into her mouth. ‘Mmmpf.’ Not the most elegant of greetings, but it served to spread that smile into an outright laugh.

‘Hello, Beth, darling!’ Eliza glanced back over her shoulder as though checking no one was behind her then leant in towards the camera to whisper. ‘I’m so glad you texted. Martin’s obsessed with this latest bloody game of his, so you’ve saved me from an evening of pretending to be interested in battle spells and troll hammers.’ She rolled her eyes then took a swig from an impressively large glass of rosé to emphasise her point.

Fighting her natural instinct to say something derogatory about her best friend’s husband, Beth contented herself with a mouthful of her own wine. It wasn’t that she disliked Martin, per se. It was almost impossible to dislike someone so utterly inoffensive, she just wished her friend didn’t seem so unhappy. The two of them had made a sweet couple at school, but Beth had always assumed the attraction would wear off once Eliza gained a bit more confidence and expanded her horizons beyond the delicate wash of purple fields encircling their home town.

When Martin had chosen the same university as them both though, her friend had declared herself delighted so Beth had swallowed her misgivings and watched as they progressed to an engagement and then marriage. They’d moved north for Martin’s job, and fallen into a kind of domestic routine more suited to a middle-aged couple. Eliza never said a word against him, other than the odd jokey comment about his obsession with computer games, but there was no hiding the flatness in her eyes. Beth suspected she was unhappy, but after her own spectacular crash-and-burn romance, she was in no position to pass judgment on anyone else’s relationship.

Opting yet again for discretion over valour, Beth raised her glass to toast her friend. ‘Bad luck for you, but great for me. I miss you guys so much and after the day I’ve had I need my girls for a moan.’

A sympathetic frown shadowed Eliza’s green eyes. ‘What’s that horrible boss of yours done this time?’ She held up a hand almost immediately. ‘No, wait, don’t tell me yet, let’s wait for Libs. She’ll be along any minute, I’m sure.’

Beth checked her watch before forking up another mouthful of noodles. It was just after half past nine. The fish and chip shop Libby helped her father to run on the seafront at Lavender Bay closed at 9 p.m. out of season. With any luck she’d be finished with the clean up right about now…

The app chirped to signal an incoming connection and a pale and harassed-looking Libby peered out from a box on the screen. ‘Hello, hello! Sorry I’m late. Mac Murdoch decided to try and charm his wife with a saveloy and extra chips to make up for staying two pints over in The Siren.’

Beth’s snort of laughter was echoed by Eliza as she pictured the expression on Betty Murdoch’s face when her husband rolled in waving the greasy peace offering. Considering she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp on the best of days, she didn’t fancy Mac’s chances.

Eliza waggled her eyebrows. ‘She won’t be sharing his sausage anytime soon.’

‘Oh, God! Eliza!’ Libby clapped her hands over her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. ‘That’s an image I never wanted in my poor innocent brain!’ The three of them burst into howls of laughter.

Gasping for breath, Beth waved a hand at her screen. ‘Stop, stop! You’ll make me spill my bloody wine.’ Which was a horrifying enough thought to quell them all into silence as they paused to take a reverent drink from their glasses.

Libby lifted a hank of her hair, dyed some shade of blue that Beth had no name for, and gave it a rueful sniff. ‘So, I get why I’m all alone apart from the smell of fried fish, but what’s up with you two that we’re hanging out on this fine Friday night?’

‘Work,’ Beth muttered, digging into her takeaway.

‘Age of Myths and bloody Legends.’ Eliza said.

‘Ah.’ Libby nodded in quiet sympathy. She knew enough about them both that nothing else was needed. People who didn’t know them well found their continuing friendship odd. Those bonds formed in the classroom through proximity and necessity often stretched to breaking point once they moved beyond the daily routine. Beth and Eliza had left their home town of Lavender Bay, whilst Libby stayed at home to help her father after the untimely death of her mum to cancer when Libby had been just fourteen.

They made a good trio—studious Beth, keeping her head down and out of trouble; warm, steady Eliza who preferred a book or working on a craft project to almost anything else; and snarky Libby with her black-painted nails and penchant for depressing music. She’d taken immense pride in being Lavender Bay’s only goth, but both Beth and Eliza had seen beyond the shield of baggy jumpers and too-much eyeliner to the generous heart beneath it. Though it might be difficult to tell from the hard face she turned to the world, Libby was the most sensitive of them all.

A sound off-screen made Libby turn around. She glanced back quickly at the screen. ‘Hold on, Dad wants something.’ Beth took the opportunity to finish off her takeaway while they waited for her.

Pushing the heavy purple-shaded fringe out of her red-rimmed eyes, Libby stared into the camera in a way that it made it feel like she was looking directly at Beth. ‘Oh, Beth love. I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’

A sense of dread sent a shiver up her spine and Beth took another quick mouthful of wine. ‘What’s up, not your dad?’

Her friend shook her head. ‘No. He’s fine. Miserable as ever, grumpy old git.’ There was no hiding the affection in her voice. Mick Stone was a gruff, some would say sullen, bear of a man, but he loved his girl with a fierce, protective heart. ‘It’s about Eleanor. She had a funny turn this evening as she was closing up the emporium, and by the time the ambulance arrived she’d gone. Massive heart attack according to what Dad’s just been told. I’m so sorry, Beth.’ Streaks of black eyeliner tracked down Libby’s cheeks as the tears started to flow.

The glass slipped from Beth’s limp fingers, spilling the last third of her wine across her knees and onto the quilt. ‘But…I only spoke to her last week and she sounded fine. Said she was a bit tired, but had been onto the school about getting a new Saturday girl in to help her. It can’t be…’

‘Oh, Beth.’ If Eliza said any more, Beth didn’t hear it as she closed her eyes against the physical pain of realisation. Eleanor Bishop had been a fixture in her life for so long, Beth had believed her invincible. From the first wonder-filled visits she’d made as a little girl to the sprawling shop Eleanor ran on the promenade, to the firm and abiding friendship when she’d taken Beth on as her Saturday girl. The bright-eyed spinster had come to mean the world to her. All those years of acting as a sounding board when Beth was having problems at home, dispensing advice without judgement, encouraging her to spread her wings and fly, letting Beth know she always had a place to return to it. A home.

If she’d only known, if she’d only had some kind of warning, she would have made sure Eleanor understood how much she meant to her, how grateful she was for her love and friendship. Now though, it was too late. She’d never hear Eleanor’s raucous, inelegant laugh ringing around the emporium as she made a joke to one of her customers, or passed comment on the latest shenanigans of the band of busybodies who made up the Lavender Bay Improvement Society.

The unpleasant dampness of her pyjama trouser leg finally registered, and she righted the glass with trembling fingers. Through the haze of tears obscuring her vision, she saw the worried, tear-stained faces of her friends staring back at her from the computer screen. ‘I’m all right,’ she whispered, knowing they would hear the lie in her voice if she spoke any louder. ‘Poor Eleanor.’

Libby scrubbed the cuff of her shirt beneath one of her eyes. ‘I don’t think she suffered, at least. Dad reckoned she was gone before she would have known anything about it. At least there’s that.’ Her voice trailed off and then she shook her head angrily. ‘What a load of bollocks. Why do we say such stupid things at times like this?’ Noisy sobs followed her outburst and Beth ached at the distance between them.

Eliza pressed her fingers to the screen, as though she could somehow reach through and offer comfort. ‘Don’t cry, darling, I can’t bear it.’ She addressed her next words to Beth. ‘What are you going to do about the arrangements? I’m sure Mum and Dad will be happy to host the wake. Eleanor doesn’t have any other family, does she?’

Eliza was right. Eleanor had been an only child, never married and apart from some distant cousins she’d mentioned whose parents had emigrated to Australia somewhere under the old Ten Pound Poms scheme, there was no one. Which meant one thing—it would be up to Beth to make sure her beloved friend had a decent send off. She sucked in a breath as she shoved her sorrow down as deep as she could manage. There would be time to deal with that later. ‘I’ll sort it out. I don’t think it can be Monday as I’ll have to straighten up a few things at work, but I’ll be down on the first train on Tuesday morning. Can you let your dad know, Libs? See if he’ll have a word with Mr Bradshaw for me.’ There was only one funeral director in town so they were bound to be dealing with the arrangements.

Libby sniffled then nodded as she too straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ll give Doc Williams a call as well and then we’ll track down whoever’s got the keys for the emporium. Make sure it’s properly locked up until you get here. You won’t be doing this alone, Beth. We’ll sort it out together.’

‘Yes, we will,’ Eliza added. ‘I’ve got some leave accrued at work and Martin can look after himself for a few days. I’ll call Mum and ask her to get my room ready. If there’s not a spare available at the pub, you can bunk in with me for a couple of days.’ The Siren had guest rooms as well as accommodation for the family, and although the bay would be quiet this time of year, they were one of the few places to offer rooms year-round so they got some passing trade from visiting businessmen and families of local people who didn’t have room to accommodate their own guests. Eliza paused, then added softly. ‘If you’d rather stay at the emporium, I’ll sleep over with you.’

The thought of being in the flat above the shop without Eleanor’s bright presence was something Beth couldn’t bear to contemplate. She shook her head. ‘No, I think with you would be best.’

‘Of course, darling. Whatever you need.’ Eliza’s face crumpled. ‘Oh, Beth, I’m so sorry.’

Beth nodded, but couldn’t speak to acknowledge the love and sympathy in those words. If she gave in, she’d never get through the next couple of days. She stared down at the papers she’d set aside until the lump in her throat subsided. Darren would never give her the time off unless she got that bloody report finished. ‘Look, I’d better go. I’ve got an urgent project to sort out for Monday.’

‘Message me if you need anything, promise me?’ Eliza raised her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss.

Beth nodded. ‘Promise.’

‘Me too. Love you both, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of such awful news.’ Libby gave them both a little wave. ‘I know it’s terrible, but I’m so looking forward to seeing you both even under such awful circumstances. It’s been too long.’

They signed off with a quick round of goodbyes, and the screen went dark in front of Beth. The greasy smell from her plate churned her stomach and she gathered it up, together with her glass and the bottle of wine. Trudging down to the kitchen, she thought about what Libby had said. She was right, it had been too long since the three of them had been together. They’d been drifting apart, not consciously, but life had pulled them in different directions. No more though, not if Beth could help it.

Now that Eleanor was gone, they were all she had left in the world. Crawling beneath the covers, Beth curled around the spare pillow and let her tears flow once more. The one person in the world she needed to talk to more than Eliza and Libby would never pick up the phone again. What was she going to do?

Chapter Two

‘Stick another one in here, and stop mooning over that bloody girl, lad.’

Samuel Barnes dragged his eyes away from the corner table where his sister was huddled with her two best friends to fix a baleful stare across the bar taps. Honestly, he didn’t understand what got into his grandad’s head sometimes. He’d known both Beth and Libby since they were knee-high and they would never be more to him than surrogate sisters. And, even if he were inclined towards either of them—not that he was, of course!—he’d hardly be trying to hit on one of them at a wake. ‘I’m not mooning, Pops, just checking the girls are all right. It’s been a bloody tough day for all of them.’

Blue eyes, still as bright as the ones he saw in his own reflection every morning, twinkled back at him from his grandad’s deeply lined face. The shock of curls on his head might be pure silver now, but Joe Barnes was still trouble in a tweed cap. ‘My mistake. That’s what happens when us old farts get dehydrated.’ Pops waggled his empty pint glass and Sam took it from him with a shake of his head.

After placing the glass in a half-full rack beneath the bar, he selected a fresh one from the shelf above his head and pulled a fresh pint from that month’s guest ale. Saucy Sal was proving to be a popular choice amongst the regulars, although that might have as much to do with the busty blonde winking out from the beer tap label as the golden-brown ale itself. Sam sighed, it was a long way from the vintage wines he’d recommended to customers at the Michelin-starred restaurant he’d worked at until the previous autumn. ‘Make the most of it, Pops,’ he said as he placed the pint on the towel in front of his grandad. ‘I’m cutting you off after this one.’

‘Cheeky whelp, you can’t cut a man off in his own damn pub! You’re not too old for a clip round the ear. We’ve got to give Eleanor a proper send off, you know.’ It had been a good few years since his parents had taken over running The Siren from Pops, but he still acted like lord and master of the place given half the chance. Now, thanks to his dad’s recent illness, Sam was the one with the dubious honour of being in charge, and Pops sought to take advantage of his relative inexperience at every opportunity.

‘I know, but I don’t want another complaint from the warden because you woke the other residents up with your singing and carrying on.’ Sam struggled against the smile wanting to rise at the memory. They’d celebrated his dad’s fiftieth birthday in as much style as he’d been up to. Sam had pulled out all the stops and cooked them all a four-course meal, choosing the perfect wines to complement each dish.

After a generous brandy nightcap, Sam had left his mum to settle his dad in bed while he walked Pops back to the sheltered accommodation flats about half a mile along the front. The fresh air had hit them both, and it hadn’t been entirely clear who’d held who up, but Sam was accepting no responsibility for the rousing chorus of ‘She was only a farmer’s daughter’ Pops had insisted on singing as Sam fumbled with the key to his grandad’s door.

Pops waved a dismissive hand. ‘Bah, she’s as uptight as that awful perm on her head.’

This time Sam couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter. ‘What am I gonna do with you, Pops?’

His grandad winked then eased himself off the stool to join his cronies in their favourite spot. ‘Well you could fetch me a bite of something from that buffet. Your ma’s done us proud again today. Eleanor would be right pleased with everything.’

Sam nodded. Pops was right. Mum had pulled out all the stops to make sure their erstwhile friend and neighbour had the send-off she deserved. He’d offered to do the catering, but his preferred style of cooking had been deemed too fancy for the occasion, and his mum had been happy to help, leaving him free to help Beth manage the logistics surrounding Eleanor’s funeral.

A sudden lump formed in his throat at the realisation that feisty, funny Eleanor Bishop would never again perch at the corner of the bar to sip the single dry sherry she treated herself to on the way home from church on Sunday mornings. She’d been a fixture of the place his whole life, slipping him and Eliza a lemon sherbet or an Everton mint from one of the ever-present paper bags she kept behind the counter in the emporium.

When he’d found himself unexpectedly back in Lavender Bay, his dreams on hold, she’d been the first to welcome him back—and to offer a sympathetic ear during those first frustrating weeks as he juggled his own disappointment and his father’s wounded pride. With regret, he let the memories go. There would be time enough to mourn her later, in private. Someone needed to hold the fort until they could usher the gathered mourners from the pub.

As no one else currently waited at the bar, he ducked under the side hatch and grabbed a plate from the end of the buffet table. After a quick glance to where the girls sat, he took a second plate. Heaping them both with sandwiches, sausage rolls and mini quiches, he delivered the first to his grandad’s table to a champion’s welcome, then made his way to Eliza’s corner.

The girls had claimed it as their own from the first day they’d been old enough to drink. He could vividly recall a rare weekend visit home from his training placement at the Cordon Bleu in Paris when he’d found them ensconced with a bottle of wine, filling the bar with laughter. They’d been home from their second year at university, and seeing them so grown-up had been a shock to the system. Though Eliza and her friends were only three years younger, the age gap between them had seemed huge growing up. When he’d thought about them, they’d been this amorphous collection of pigtails, terrible taste in pop music, and annoying interruptions. That weekend, they’d diverged into distinct personalities, and that age gap had narrowed considerably.

He’d found Beth particularly distracting, but that had been a moment of madness. A surge of youthful hormones, alcohol and opportunity. The bottle of wine the girls had split had been followed by several large vodka and tonics, leaving them all a little unsteady on their feet. Worried about the way she’d almost fallen out of the door, Sam had followed her out, almost tripping over himself thanks to several pints and an enormous brandy Pops had poured for him.

When he’d straightened up, she’d been standing on the railing that lined the edge of the promenade, arms flung out like she was Rose standing on the prow of the Titanic. With her hair streaming out behind her, and a flush on her cheeks from the booze and the chilly wind, she’d looked as tempting as the mermaid who decorated the pub’s sign swinging over his head.

He’d crossed to her without thinking, her name on his lips. Startled, she’d turned too fast and lost her balance to tumble the short distance into his arms. It might have been all right if she hadn’t hooked her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies up close so he couldn’t fail to notice the womanly curves, the way his hands slotted perfectly at her waist, as though the sculpted indent had been carved to fit only him.

Her fingers had knotted in the curls at his nape, and then they were kissing, hot and wet and frantic—a clumsy clash of lips and tongues. God only knows what might have happened had Libby not staggered out of the bar at the moment to screech in disbelief at the sight of them. Her shocked laughter had doused his passion as effectively as a dip in the sea and Sam had come to his senses. With a muttered apology, he’d fled back into the pub and brushed it off as a stupid mistake. Thankfully, that brief flutter of attraction had passed, and he’d tucked her firmly back into the like-a-sister-to-me box where she belonged.

Sliding the plate onto the table, he studied their red-rimmed eyes with a surge of brotherly concern. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’

Beth glanced up at him. Her hazel eyes, which could morph from brown to green to blue depending on her mood, stood out huge in her pale face. Her chestnut hair had been dragged up in a high ponytail, the strands dull and lifeless. A jut of collarbone he’d never noticed before poked out from the too-loose neck of her navy blouse, and he had to shove his hands in his pockets before she saw them clench into fists. Voice husky with tears, she thanked him for the food.

His lip twitched, wanting to curl into a snarl. Beth had been hooked up with the same bloke for a few years now, so where the hell was he? What kind of man let the woman he loved get herself in such a state? There was no sign of the glossy confidence she’d attained during his years at university. She looked hollow, brittle.

The protectiveness he’d felt for Beth since the day she’d first skipped into his life at six-years-old, roared into life. At the grand age of nine, he’d been told old for the silly games his sister and her best friends played in the yard behind the pub, so had restricted himself to a lofty sigh or a weary shake of his head when they needed him to fetch a ball or help them sketch out a hopscotch on the concrete floor of the yard. Even back then, they’d known he would do anything for them and his complaints fell on deaf ears.

Pops had never understood Sam’s fascination with fancy cooking, and had taken it upon himself to teach him the workings of the pub, whether Sam had much interest in it or not. They’d been down in the cellar one morning checking the barrels and making a note of what they needed to order that week from the brewery, when a high-pitched cry had reached their ears. Racing up the cellar steps, Sam had burst into the yard to find a tear-stained Beth on her hands and knees where she’d tripped over.

He hadn’t been able to do much more than stare into her limpid hazel eyes before his mum had bustled over with a flannel to soothe the grazes on Beth’s palms and shins, but it had been enough for him to make a decision. With no brothers or sisters, Beth didn’t have anyone else to look out for her, so it would be his job from that day forward. It was true that little Libby Stone was an only child as well, but she’d always been as tough as old boots and would likely thump Sam if he tried to pull any of that big brother stuff with her. Beth had always been more delicate, more in need of his protection. Something her feckless parents had failed to give her.

The adult version of Libby wasn’t any less scrappy than the mini one, and right now she was eyeing Sam in a way that made him want to squirm, or scrub at the heat he could feel rising on the back of his neck. With a knowing smile, Libby snagged a sausage roll from the plate in front of Beth and popped it into her mouth. ‘So kind of you to think of us, Sammy.’

Having witnessed that momentary indiscretion between Sam and Beth, she’d been like a dog with a bloody bone, reading far too much into a something-and-nothing of a kiss. They’d both managed to forget about it, so why couldn’t she? Fixing her with a warning glare, he gathered their empty glasses. ‘It’s a big brother’s job to look after his girls. I’ll get you a refill, shall I?’ Not waiting for an affirmative, he returned to the bar, ignoring the derisive snort behind his back that could only have come from Libby.

Eliza followed on his heels. ‘Better make those spritzers, Sam, and heavy on the spritz or we’ll all be crying again.’

He lifted the hatch to let her join him on the business side of the bar, pressing a kiss to the top of the unruly sandy curls they’d both inherited from Pops, through their dad. ‘How are you holding up, kiddo?’

Her arm slid around his waist, and she burrowed deeper into his side. ‘Bloody awful. Poor Beth, she’s been so brave all week she had me fooled into thinking she was coping all right with losing Eleanor, but she’s absolutely shattered.’

His attention strayed once again across the room. Libby had an arm around Beth’s shoulders and their heads were pressed close together as they whispered about something. He saw Beth shake her head, followed by a frown from Libby as the willowy brunette slipped out from beneath her arm and headed towards the bar. A couple of people stopped her on her way, no doubt offering some condolence or other which she accepted with a gracious smile and a few words.

Unable to stop himself, Sam stepped around Eliza to intercept Beth on the threshold of the door leading to the private areas of the pub. ‘Everything all right?’

‘What? Oh, yes, fine thanks, Sam.’ Jesus, could she hear the lie in her voice as clearly as he did? He ground his teeth to choke back the words, forcing a smile he knew wouldn’t reach his eyes. Luckily, she was too distracted to notice much of anything. Holding up the phone in her hand, she gave him a rueful grin. ‘I just need to check in with work, my boss keeps texting me.’

From the little he’d overheard the girls talking about him, her boss sounded like a right knob. ‘I thought you were on leave?’

‘Me too.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a bit noisy in here, you don’t mind if I pop in the back?’

Freeing one hand, he pushed open the swing door to the family area. ‘Help yourself. Mum’s in the kitchen, and I think Dad’s having a lie down so the lounge will be quiet.’

Beth placed one foot on the bottom step, then paused to glance back at him. ‘Thanks. I might go out in the yard, I could do with a bit of fresh air.’

‘Of course.’ Sam grabbed his jacket from the peg by the back door. ‘Here, put this on, and mind your step. The sun doesn’t get high enough this time of year so it’s likely to still be icy in a few spots.’

A more natural smile played upon her lips, but she let him help her into the coat without protest. ‘Thank you.’

The thick length of her hair was caught in the collar, he unhooked it, his fingers accidentally brushing against the nape of her neck. She froze at the unexpected caress, and feeling ten types of awkward himself, Sam tweaked her nose just as he had when she’d been a little girl. The weird tension between them snapped and she gave a little giggle.

He zipped the jacket up to her chin until she was all but swallowed up by the padded material. ‘Don’t get cold, all right? I’ll see if Eliza can give me a hand rounding people up. They’ve all had a good feed and a couple of drinks on the house by now. More than enough to pay their respects.’

Her shoulders drooped, as though the promise of not having to face any more well-wishers had drained the last of her reserves. ‘If you could, I’d appreciate it. I’m…I’m about at the end of my tether.’ The hitch in her voice scrapped him raw. For all Eleanor meant to him, she’d been Beth’s guardian and primary carer for the best part of ten years now.

Her features crumpled for a second before she forced her eyes wide open and heaved a breath. If she needed to be strong, to stand on her own two feet for just a bit longer, he would have to let her. Even if it felt like he’d swallowed a handful of glass. ‘Consider it done, Princess.’

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.

Scrolling back to the latest message, Beth highlighted all the text and dumped everything into a blank word document. The hubbub of conversations, ringing phones and the ever-present tap-tap of fingers on keyboards melted into the background as she began to work her way through, deleting the superfluous headers and footers, highlighting sections of text she thought she might need and annotating comments with the name of the contributor to ensure she didn’t lose track. Warming to the task, she reached for her headphones and plugged them into her phone, clicking on a familiar playlist she knew by heart which would melt into the background.

Once she felt sufficiently caught up, she moved on to the draft response document Darren had tasked another member of their team to prepare. Scanning the first few paragraphs, Beth assumed she’d opened an early version of the file and stopped to double check their shared drive. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she tugged loose one of her earbuds and reached for the phone. ‘Marco? I’m trying to find the latest version of the Sampson response doc.’

‘Hello to you too, Beth.’ She rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the snippiness in his voice. Marco had been with them only a few months, but was already Darren’s blue-eyed boy. What he lacked in work ethic and ability, he more than made up for in sycophantic crawling. He deferred to Darren in everything, and was one of his regular drinking buddies.

‘Sorry, Marco. It’s been a rough couple of days, you know.’

He sniffed. ‘Yes, I do bloody know. You left us right in the shit when you buggered off without a word.’

‘A very good friend of mine died, it’s not like I was on holiday.’ Beth swallowed the urge to snap further, terrified she’d break down and start crying again. ‘If you could just confirm which version I should be working on, please.’

Marco sighed like she was asking him to sacrifice his first born. ‘It’s in the J: drive, version 1.3. Darren and I have put a lot of effort into it, so it shouldn’t need much work, just the last couple of responses which came through overnight.’

Beth stared at the file extension name on the document in front of her. Shit. She would be better off starting from scratch, because there was no way she could do anything with the incoherent crap they’d cobbled together. ‘Okay, thanks. Just remind me when this needs to go up to the director.’ Crossing her fingers, she prayed she had at least another full day to fix the mess.

‘It went up to Bruce earlier today. Like I said, it only needs a bit of tarting up.’

Beth swallowed a laugh at the way Marco dropped the name of the director of key accounts. As if he’d call him anything other than Mr Turner to his face, pompous git. The implication of his words sank in. The nonsense on her screen had been submitted to the director…she choked at the very idea.

Undeterred by her coughing, Marco continued to speak. ‘Darren was well impressed with the amount of work I’ve put into it, so I used a bit of initiative.’ Good God, he actually sounded pleased with himself. Wondering if it was worth putting a call into the director’s office to try and intercept the email, she almost missed Marco’s next boastful words. ‘Between us, the boss has given me the head’s up that the supervisor’s job is as good as mine.’

Her vision narrowed as a strange roaring filled her ears. All that work she’d put in, all the late nights and weekends and for what? To be usurped by some useless idiot who knew how to suck up? Knowing she’d been silent too long, she forced herself to speak. ‘Well, I guess I should offer you my congratulations.’

‘Cheers, Beth. Don’t worry, I won’t make you call me Mr Travelli when you’re reporting to me.’ The nasty edge to his laugh made her stomach flutter, but thankfully he hung up before she had to respond further.

She replaced the receiver, picked it up again and dialled the first three digits of the extension for Nadia, Mr Turner’s PA, before stopping. Why was she even bothering? She could make some excuse about the wrong file being sent, spend the rest of the afternoon trying to turn the rubbish in front of her into something halfway decent and get exactly zero bloody credit for it. Anger bubbled in her gut. After everything she’d done, this was how Darren repaid her loyalty? She stood so quickly her chair rolled back, causing the wheels to bang against the filing cabinet behind her desk.

‘Everything all right, Beth?’

Turning to meet Ravi’s concerned gaze, she shook her head. ‘Not really, Rav. I need some fresh air.’ Beth hurried over to retrieve her coat from the rack before he could press her for more details.

‘Come on, come on…’ Tapping her foot, she waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. Needing to keep moving, she was on the verge of abandoning her wait in favour of the fire escape beside it when the indicator bell dinged. The doors slid open, enveloping her in a waft of beer fumes and ribald laughter.

A man stepped backwards through the doors, intent on his conversation with the rest of the lift occupants and Beth was forced to side-step to avoid being banged into. She recognised the slicked-back hair, the dark suit with gangster-wide white stripes and her stomach lurched. ‘Yeah, yeah, mate, I’m sure she said that.’ His sarcastic drawl was greeted by another howl of laughter.

Beth reached for the handle for the stairwell door, and had it halfway open when he spotted her. ‘Hey, Beth. You finally decided to grace us with your presence then?’

Shoving a hand in her pocket, her fingers brushed against the crisp rectangle of the envelope containing Eleanor’s letter. ‘I need some fresh air.’ She threw the comment back over her shoulder and took a step into the stairwell.

Darren barged his way through the door, his voice echoing loudly off the concrete walls. ‘You must be joking, you can’t have been at your desk more than five minutes. Bruce wants a copy of the response document ready for him to review tonight.’

Grabbing the handrail with her free hand, Beth backed down another couple of risers wanting to put some distance between herself and the whole bloody mess. ‘But Marco’s already sent him a copy of the draft…’

Her team leader’s face drained to an unpleasant shade she could only equate to the colour of lard. ‘He did what?’

Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but I’m sure that’s what he just told me.’

‘Christ!’ Darren spun on his heel, holding the door wide as he did so. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get this sorted out.’

A strange sense of calm settled over her as Beth stood her ground. ‘Did you promise Marco the supervisor’s position?’

Her boss glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t got time for that now, we need to get this cock-up sorted out before Bruce sees that draft.’ His lack of denial told her everything she needed to know. Stroking the edge of the envelope in her pocket, Beth took a deep breath as the full significance of her conversation with Mr Symonds sank into her exhausted brain. She had choices; options.

Freedom.

Releasing the handrail, she trotted back up the stairs to a visible smile of relief from Darren. ‘Good girl. Go and grab your laptop and meet me in my office. I’ll try and head Bruce off at the pass.’

Beth watched him jog towards the tiny walled-off space in the corner before returning to her desk. She undocked the laptop, flicked off the monitor and tugged open her top drawer. A jumble of Cup-a-Soups, pens and sticky notes stared back at her and she slid it closed again then bent to collect her handbag. She’d come straight from the station, so her suitcase stood next to the window. Bag over her shoulder, laptop under her arm and the handle of her case in the opposite hand, she smiled across the partition at Ravi. ‘I’ll call you later.’

‘Ooo-kay. You sure you’re all right, mate?’

‘Never better, I promise.’

Conscious of the stares following her, Beth marched towards Darren’s office. Leaving her case outside, she approached his desk to dump her laptop on a pile of folders. She unhooked the id card from around her neck and let the lanyard slither through her fingers.

‘I’ve managed to intercept Marco’s email, though I owe Janice a large G&T.’ He glanced up from his screen. ‘Well, pull up a chair then.’

‘No.’

It took a few seconds for her refusal to register, and Beth could actually see the moment it dawned upon him. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said no. Nope. Pass. Uh-uh. Forget it. Not happening.’ She couldn’t stop the flush of heat surging over her skin, but she held her head high.

Darren rocked back in his chair, a flinty hardness settling in his eyes. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

‘Working my arse off for an idiot like you for the past two years in the futile hope I’d one day earn a fraction of the respect you dish out to your drinking buddies and sycophants? Oh yes, it’s a huge joke. A bloody laugh riot, and all at my expense. Well, no more. I quit.’

There was burning bridges, and there was dumping a gallon of petrol and aiming a flamethrower at it. Throwing up on his desk would only spoil the dramatic effect of her announcement so she gulped hard against the wave of panicked nausea.

His shiny face turned so red, she wondered for a moment if his head might pop under the pressure building beneath the skin. ‘You can’t fucking quit. If you take one step towards that door, I’ll sack you.’

The panic melted away and, smiling, she took a deliberate pace backwards. ‘Perfect. At least now I won’t have to serve my notice. See ya.’

She made it across the office, the echoes of Darren’s ineffectual bellowing ringing in her ears, down in the lift, across the lobby and halfway down the street before the first tear dripped hot upon her cheek.

Chapter Four

1st January

My dearest Beth,

I’m sitting in the window seat as I write this, listening to the waves on the shingle below. Thankfully, the Lavender Bay fireworks display was much less impressive than that malarkey on the telly, so it’s silent as the grave now. Funny how we use phrases like that without a second’s thought to their true meaning, isn’t it?

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I’m properly wrapped-up, Miss Fusspot. I’ve got that beautiful, soft throw you sent me for Christmas tucked around me and I’m snug as a bug. You shouldn’t have bothered, you know, but I’m glad you did none the less. You should be saving your pennies, not wasting them on me. And it will be a waste because I’ll not get much use from it…but enough of that for now.

It won’t be midnight yet where you are, will it? Here am I shivering in my slippers and I bet you’ve been cooking yourself on the beach all day. I hope you’re having a lovely time in Florida with your mum. Whatever her faults, she always tried to do right by you so I’m trying not to resent her too much for stealing you away from me this once.

Our lovely Libby popped around to see me earlier. She’s such a darling girl, even with that mad hair of hers. Honestly, Beth, you should see her—it’s as scarlet as Santa’s suit. Poor Mick, she does drive him to distraction with her appearance. I wonder if he understands it’s all a front and beneath that hard shell she’s more soft and vulnerable than either you or Eliza. I know you see it too, so you must promise to take good care of her when I’m gone.

And so I find myself coming back to the point again, no matter how hard I try to avoid it, because if you’re reading this then it means my time is up. Hopefully, you won’t be reading this letter any time soon, and I’ve just got a silly case of the new year blues, but there are things I want you to know, things I should have explained to you, but have never quite got around to.

Dr Walsh keeps telling me to slow down, but what’s the point in that? We’ve been managing my angina for the past couple of years, and though the pills don’t work like they used to, there’s life in this old dog yet! He wants to me have surgery, but I can’t abide the idea of being cut open like that, and there are lots of people more deserving of the over-stretched resources of our lovely NHS than an old biddy like me.

It’s all right though, I’m quite ready. Oh, I shall miss you like the devil, and this place I’ve been lucky enough to call home for the past eighty-odd years, but I think I’m just about done.

I know you’ll be sad, my darling, and I wish more than anything I could be there with you now to give you a hug. You’ve brought so much joy to my life, I bless God every day for bringing you into this world. I’ve missed you, and I don’t say that to make you feel guilty, but it’s the truth. I can’t help but worry about you, Beth, because I know something’s happened and I wish you would talk to me about it.

Libby let slip about Charlie, but I don’t want to force you to talk about it, so we keep having those silly conversations when you tell me everything is fine, and I pretend to believe you. It’s like you’ve lost your sunshine, and I know how that feels. Perhaps you think I’m too old to understand a heartbreak, but of all the things I’ve forgotten over my life, that pain is the one thing which never seems to fade.

And that’s why I want to warn you, darling, not to let it take you over the way I once did until being on your own becomes a habit you cannot break. I loved him so much you see, so I never let myself get over it—and that’s a regret I’ll live with for whatever days and weeks remain to me. It might seem impossible now, but you must let the disappointment go. Promise me!

I’m going to be awful and make a dying request to you. I know it’s self-indulgent and I’ll play on your guilt if I have to, because this is important. Look for love, Beth. Keep your heart and your mind open, and don’t let your fear of being hurt hold you back. Life’s hard, it hurts so much sometimes it can be tempting to hide from it. Be as bold and vibrant as I know you can be, dearest, and know I’m looking down and cheering you on.

And so we come to the emporium. So many happy memories, I hope for you as well as me, but it’s okay to let it go. I’m leaving it to you with no strings attached. Keep it if you wish, but don’t you dare hang onto it just because you think that’s what I’d want you to do. I’ll come back and haunt the bloody place if you do!

If you are happy in London, then sell up with my blessing and use the money to give yourself a safety net. If you’re not, then maybe consider giving the bay a second chance. There’s so much to love about the place, so please think about coming home and letting it give you the comfort you need, even for a little while.

Right, enough rambling from me. I’m going to make myself a cup of cocoa, with as many marshmallows as I can cram into my mug. The best thing about this aging lark is I don’t have to worry about my waistline anymore!

With all my very fondest love, now and always.

Eleanor xxx

Chapter Five

It was a crisp, cold morning, the type Sam knew from experience would draw walkers to the beach to watch the white-tops crashing over the rocks at the end of the bay. With any luck, the fresh salt air would encourage a few appetites. He made a mental note to stop in and see Pete at the butcher’s to add some extras to the meat order. He could already smell the rich scent of gravy oozing from the steak and kidney puddings his mum could knock together in her sleep. If he wanted one of those puddings, he needed to get on with his morning run. After adjusting the thin wool gloves on his hands, he tugged a knit cap down over his curls and began to jog along the promenade.

Come rain or shine, he never missed his run. It helped to clear the cobwebs away and set him up for the day. His route took him along one half of the prom, past the wide windows of Baycrest’s breakfast room where he turned up into the streets behind the seafront, around past the station and back down to the other end of the prom. The loop was a couple of miles in total and he loved the quiet solitude of the town before it woke for the day.

Slowing his pace as he approached Baycrest, he turned his head to check who was up and about. Pops was an early riser and this morning he was settled at one the small tables next to the window, sharing a pot of tea with Mrs Taylor. Sam had a theory about the pair of them, but he kept his face straight as he returned their waves of greeting and kept moving. Much as he’d adored his Nan, she’d passed a long time ago and if Pops could find some comfort in his twilight years, then good on him as far as Sam was concerned.

Halfway down Church Street, the hat and gloves were off, tucked inside the neck of his tracksuit top. Although it was too early for opening, the lights were on inside the butcher’s shop and he knocked on the window to get Pete’s attention. Bending at the waist whilst he waited for the older man to unlock the door, he stretched out his hamstrings with a few toe touches. The bell above the door rattled, and he straightened up with a smile. ‘Morning, Pete.’

The butcher grinned. ‘Morning, Sam lad. Bit of a brisk one this morning.’

Sam nodded. ‘But clear as far as the eye can see so I’m hoping for a few extra drop-ins. Can you do me about three kilos of braising steak and a dozen lamb kidneys?’

Pete’s eyes lit up. ‘You going to talk your mum into making puddings for lunch?’ When Sam nodded, the butcher grinned. ‘Make sure you save us a plate, I’ll be in around half one.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll join you if you don’t mind and we can maybe run through the menus for the next couple of weeks?’

Pete stuck out his hand. ‘Sounds good. Billy should be in within the next half hour, I’ll get your order together and he can drop it in to you, if that works?’ They still did things the old-fashioned way in Lavender Bay, and the butcher’s young assistant could often be seen peddling around the streets on a bike with a huge basket mounted on the front of it packed with paper-wrapped parcels of meat.

‘That would be a great help, thanks. We’ve got a new guest beer in, I’ll stand you a pint.’ With a wave, Sam picked up his pace once again.

By the time he turned the corner and began making his way back along the prom, he’d bumped into half a dozen local traders and sold them all on the promise of his mum’s steak and kidney pudding. It was a tightrope sometimes balancing the needs of the locals with the influx of tourists, but his parents had always stressed the importance of maintaining a good network of contacts. They shopped local whenever possible, and that loyalty was returned in kind. Each encounter also drove home to him how much resistance he’d be facing when it came to any changes he wanted to make at the pub. Folks around here were plain and hearty, and liked their food the same way. So for now it would be steak and kidney pud, rather than the cassoulet of venison he might prefer to make.

Jogging over to the railing which separated the edge of the promenade from the short drop down to the beach, Sam propped his foot on the lower rail and bent over his knee to stretch out his calf. A few dog-walkers dotted the dark sand, but other than that it was quiet.

Switching his leg stretches to torso twists, Sam froze mid-movement when he spotted a light shining in the window of the emporium. The fate of the place had been the subject of much gossip and speculation, and he, along with the rest of the town, had been expecting a ‘for sale’ sign to appear soon. Curious, he crossed the promenade to peer through the dirty glass. The dust covers had been removed from a couple of the display cabinets, the cloth pooled on the floor. He cupped his hands to his eyes, but there was no sign of life inside beyond the light and the signs of disturbance. He knocked on the window, and waited.

The lack of response worried him—the bay had its fair share of drifters and troublemakers, what if one of them was looking to take advantage of the empty shop? He tested the handle, pausing when it turned easily in his palm to glance upwards. The old-fashioned brass bell still hung over the door and opening it would provide warning for whoever might be inside. Hopefully it would be enough to scare them away. Sam checked his pocket, found the reassuring shape of his phone and sucked in a deep breath. Using his shoulder, he shoved open the door sending the bell clanging wildly.

A loud thump, followed by a ripe curse in a familiar female voice, came from beneath the large wooden counter across the room. ‘Ow, bollocks and shite!’

‘Beth?’ Sam hurried closer as her familiar auburn hair, coated in a fine layer of dust, appeared from beneath the counter. The delicate features of her face were scrunched into a frown.

‘Sam? What the hell are you doing here?’

He couldn’t help laughing at the fierce demand. ‘Shouldn’t that be my line?’

Pushing to her feet, Beth folded her arms over her chest. ‘Considering you’re the one trespassing in my shop, then no, it’s most definitely my line.’

‘Your…?’ Mind reeling from the shock of seeing her so unexpectedly, it took him a moment of two to put the pieces together and then he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. ‘Eleanor left the emporium to you?’

Beth used the back of her hand to push a stray length of her hair back from her face, leaving a dirty streak high on her cheekbone in the process. ‘Yes. I had no idea, but it was a gift I couldn’t ignore and came at just the right time because I couldn’t stick that job a moment longer.’ Her eyes widened in horror and she clapped a hand to her cheek. ‘Oh, God! That sounded awful, like I wished Eleanor dead or something.’

Tears pooled in her eyes and he reached out to cup her shoulders. ‘Hush, now. It didn’t sound anything of the sort. Were things really that bad?’

Beth nodded her head, sending the tears spilling over onto her cheeks. She sniffed, then laughed at the ungainly noise. ‘I hated it. I never realised how much until I was standing in my boss’s office telling him to get stuffed.’

Sam squeezed her shoulders. ‘From what Eliza’s told me about him, he deserved it.’ He glanced around, taking in the dusty shelves, and the ridiculous wooden banana with the cheeky-faced monkey perched on the top. Everything his eyes touched upon reminded him of Eleanor, and he had to admire Beth’s courage at taking the place on. How much harder must it be for her, having spent so many years working side by side with her old friend and mentor.

As though she heard his thoughts, Beth sighed. ‘I don’t know if I can face being here either, to be honest. Mr Symonds told me there’s a buyer who’s interested in the place and Eleanor said she wouldn’t mind if I sold it…’

Sam frowned in confusion. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know she planned to leave the emporium to you?’

‘Oh, I had no idea, but she wrote me a letter which she left with her will.’ Her hand strayed to the pocket at her hip, as though she carried the letter with her. ‘It’s not just the shop, she left me everything.’ Beth hung her head. ‘But I’m not sure I can fill her shoes, or if I should even try.’

The raw pain was visible in every line of her body and Sam curled an arm around her back to draw her close against him. ‘She believed in you, Beth. Was so proud of everything you’ve achieved. She was always full of your latest news when she dropped in next door for her sherry.’

Beth gave a bitter laugh. ‘And what exactly have I achieved? A failed career, a failed relationship.’ Well, that explained why she’d been on her own at the funeral. The air seemed to escape from her and she sagged against him for a few moments before straightening up again. ‘I don’t think I’m very good at anything, no matter how hard I try.’

This lacklustre, deflated attitude wasn’t like Beth, and although he wouldn’t say anything to her, it had him worried. She’d always been quiet, but he’d never known her to be lacking in confidence. ‘You don’t have to rush into making any decisions, do you?’

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head then stepped back to look at him. ‘You’re right. I can save the big decisions for another day. I’ll focus on getting the place spruced up a bit and try and work out where everything stands. No one’s going to notice much if the place isn’t open before Easter.’ Like a lot of seaside towns, Lavender Bay was heavily reliant on the influx of holiday makers at peak seasons to make ends meet.

‘Good idea. If you need help with anything, you only have to ask.’

‘I’m sure you’ve got your hands full running things next door.’ Beth drew her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘I was so sorry about your dad. I didn’t get much of a chance to speak to him when I was down, how is he?’

Sam set his hands on his hips as he scrubbed the toe of his trainer through the thin layer of dust coating the wooden floor of the shop. ‘Miserable. Keeps trying to do too much which only sets him back.’ It was his turn to bite his lip. ‘I’m not sure it’s going to work out me trying to run things when he won’t give me any breathing space.’ He cut himself off with a sharp gesture. ‘Jesus, you don’t need to listen to me whining, you’ve got enough on your plate.’ If he started talking about all the doubts churning inside him, he might not stop. And he meant what he’d said, she had enough to deal with.

Beth looked like she wanted to protest, but to his relief she let it drop. Her eyes dropped to his trainers, then back up. ‘Have you been out for a run? Bit brave of you in this cold wind.’

It was a lame attempt at changing the subject, but he grabbed at it with both hands. ‘Yeah, I have a regular route around the town I do every day. I try and get out into the countryside a couple of times a month—Dad opens up on a Saturday morning which gives me some extra time. There’s some great routes out beyond Gilbert’s farm, you should come out with me.’

She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head. ‘Is that your idea of asking me on a date, Samuel Barnes?’

‘You must be joking!’ She’d mentioned the boyfriend was out of the scene, but she’d never shown any interest in him that way. Well, other than that one time… When she didn’t respond, he feared he’d insulted her. ‘Not that any man wouldn’t be thrilled to go out with you, Beth. Not me, of course, that would just be weird. But other men…’ Sam forced his jaw shut with a snap, though there was nothing to be done about the heat rising on his cheeks.

Gales of laughter met his blundering words, and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or just a touch insulted. ‘Oh, God, the look on your face!’ Beth waved her hands helplessly as another paroxysm of giggles wracked her.

Abandoning any thought of salvaging his ego, Sam let the infectious bubbles of her laughter raise his own smile. The glimpse of the girl he knew was too good to resist, as was the chance to continue the conversation about them dating. Best to clear the air, make it clear they were both on the same page and all that. ‘Come on now, Beth. You know a date with me would be a much classier affair than a run around the block. At the very least I’d shout you a saveloy and chips, maybe even an ice cream to follow.’

Clutching her clasped hands to her breast, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘You sure know how to spoil a girl.’ She heaved a sigh and he was pleased to see the tension seep from her frame. ‘And you always manage to make me feel better. Thank you.’

Sam sketched a bow, which no doubt looked ridiculous in a tracksuit. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’ Her smile faltered a little, so he hurriedly changed the subject. ‘So, has the place changed much since the last time you were working behind the counter?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. When I walked in and caught that first hint of Penhaligon’s Bluebell perfume it was like I’d never left home.’ Glancing over her shoulder, she looked towards the stock room behind the shop. ‘I keep expecting Eleanor to step out from the back.’

‘As soon as the clock hits five-thirty, I find myself reaching for the sherry,’ he confessed, and she turned back to him with a laugh.

‘For medicinal purposes only,’ they said together, and he shook his head. Eleanor’s death had left a huge hole in so many lives—his own included.

It was quiet now, but the Easter holidays were less than two months away and families would be piling onto the beach and strolling the promenade. The emporium was such a fixture of the town, he couldn’t imagine it without the doors wide open, revolving stands of postcards and trinkets standing out front, and inflatables dangling from strings hooked over the ceiling beams. The children loved to jump up and try and head the balls, animals and bright rubber rings—it was a rite of passage for locals and visitors alike and no one had cheered louder than Eleanor when one of them leapt high enough to touch one.

If Beth decided running the place was too much to deal with, he hoped someone else would take it on. ‘Do you know anything about the potential buyer you mentioned? Do they intend to keep the place as it is?’

Beth shook her head. ‘Mr Symonds said they had a standing request for any kind of property that might come up.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘A developer, I think he said. If they didn’t keep it as a shop, what do you think they might do?’

A heavy weight settled in his gut. A developer would be interested in only one thing when it came to a prime seafront location. ‘Flats would be my guess.’ There was a real demand for high-end apartments in seaside towns like Lavender Bay. He’d noticed on his return last year how things had already begun to change.

The collection of shops he remembered from his youth had been altered irretrievably. At least three of the traditional buildings along the prom had been converted into glass and steel monstrosities with oversized balconies. The traders’ association had discussed lobbying the council to fight any future developers’ plans, but investment was desperately needed so they walked a tightrope between wanting to preserve the special atmosphere of the seafront and the depressing sight of empty, boarded up buildings.

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