Turning the Tide Read online

  Harry stretched her aching back. ‘Yes, well this is my piece of paradise and, if the Spitmarsh Yacht Club hadn’t sold out to a property developer, it might have stood half a chance of staying that way.’

  Jimi shook his head. ‘If it hadn’t been Matthew Corrigan it would have been someone else. Everyone’s on the lookout for the next big thing; the next Watergate Bay, the next Padstow, the next Burnham Market.’

  ‘Just my luck to get Matthew Corrigan then,’ said Harry. ‘And just his luck to come across the one thing that will probably put me out of business.’

  He removed his sunglasses and blinked at her.

  Harry wasn’t in the mood to play games. ‘Oh, come on!’ she said. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know – he must have told you! Isn’t that why you’re here? To check out phase two of the development?’

  Jimi took a step back and Harry frowned, annoyed with herself for lashing out so quickly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, letting out a long breath. ‘That was a bit unfair of me, it’s not your fault you work for a money-making machine. I just don’t know what I’m going to do. You can understand that this manorial rights thing is worrying me sick.’

  ‘What manorial rights thing?’

  She shook her head. ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  She looked up at him and saw that the dark eyes were serious. For a moment she saw past the flashy clothes and carefully presented image and caught a glimpse of something that made her think of the past when she was still a child and her dad was there to take care of her. She shrugged. What did it matter if she told him or not? He’d find out soon enough anyway.

  When she’d finished Jimi whistled softly. ‘So the business your father founded and which you’ve spent five years building up could be valueless?’

  ‘Well, it certainly looks that way. Unless I can find evidence to the contrary, Matthew Corrigan owns the access to the boat yard; he could take the lot away from me at a stroke. God, I’m glad Dad’s not here to see this mess.’

  ‘Sounds to me as if your dad was responsible for the mess. Isn’t that something he ought to have known about?’

  Had he known about it? Was this yet another unwelcome discovery? Harry shivered, picturing the unnerving calm of an empty boat. Of Calypso tethered and fretful on her mooring, the dinghy hanging uselessly at her side. No, that was a crazy idea. Everyone knew her father’s death had been an accident. She rubbed in vain at a new oil stain on her dungarees. ‘Dad built this place out of nothing,’ she insisted. ‘The boat yard meant everything to him.’

  ‘So you say, but would he have wanted you to be burdened with the price you’re having to pay to keep it going? Doesn’t it make sense to get the best price you can for the land Matthew wants to buy, before he puts the screws on you and gets the whole business for nothing?’

  She glanced up to find his dark eyes watching her intently. Was it worth it? Okay, so she worked really long hours and had weathered ups and downs like any other business. But she did have a really lovely home and it didn’t matter if not many people ever got to see it, because she liked her privacy. George was around to keep an eye on the boat yard; all right, she had to check up on everything he did these days and she was beginning to worry about his health. She had friends in the town, and if Trevor and Frankie had been too busy with their refit to tell her anything about it before they reopened, well, she quite understood. Of course it was worth it. As soon as she could swallow the huge lump in her throat, she would tell Jimi just that.

  ‘No, I’m not going to give up something he worked so hard to make a success. I can’t do it,’ she croaked, shaking her head. ‘I’m not going to let Matthew Corrigan walk all over me and I’ll find a way to make the boat yard a success. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.’

  ‘It’s no good talking the talk now,’ Jimi persisted. ‘You might as well try to get the best deal you can – unless there’s a way out.’

  Would he run back to Matthew and report their conversation? Harry hadn’t missed the swift flicker of anger cross his face as Jimi realised Matthew had been holding out on him. On the other hand Jimi was a chef, wasn’t he? Did it really make any difference to him whether or not Matthew went on to develop the site further, when his reputation rested on the success or failure of the restaurant?

  Because she had nothing else to lose, Harry decided she did feel inclined to confide in Jimi. Besides, she’d already warned Matthew she would do all she could to stop him − surely he would have worked out she would be trying to find a way to do just that?

  ‘It depends if I can find anything to repudiate Matthew’s claim,’ she volunteered. ‘If I can lay my hands on any documents to prove that the manorial rights were relinquished by a previous owner, I might just have a chance of staying in business.’

  Jimi wasn’t impressed. ‘You might as well give up now if you’re relying on that to bail you out. I mean, where do you start looking?’

  ‘I know, I know.’ She threw up her hands. ‘My mother made it clear that she certainly wouldn’t have kept anything to do with the boat yard and, whilst George has a few bits and pieces of sentimental value, the chances of uncovering something as useful as Matthew managed to put his hands on are looking pretty thin.’

  Jimi touched her arm lightly. ‘I’m a great chef, Harry. The restaurant could bring in more business than you think. It could make all the difference to the boat yard’s future prosperity.’

  Harry looked up at the sky. ‘Customers I need. But not like that,’ she said, nodding at her trendy visitors who, having taken their photographs, were wandering back again. ‘I need people who love this landscape for itself, not because it’s flavour of the month, the kind of people who want to preserve the beauty of the backwaters for future generations. The trouble is, I really don’t know if they’re out there any more. You know, even before Matthew Corrigan came along I sometimes worried that I was fighting a losing battle.’

  ‘Look around you; the place is buzzing and it’s not just because a few food tourists are visiting. People in the town have started to believe in themselves again. Surely you don’t want all that energy to be wasted?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s just another false dawn. Everyone’s putting so much effort in but it won’t last, will it? Once the novelty of Samphire has worn off, it will be back to normal. Worse really, because everyone will have lost so much – especially me.’

  ‘Just think about how it could be for a moment; what the town would be like if it could get people to return, if there was a focus to attract them. Gradually, other organisations will come on board; arts, schools, local producers – and soon there’ll be fewer reasons for young people to leave. Surely you’d want to be part of that?’

  ‘I hope you’ve got some good ideas, because you’re going to need them to achieve that little lot.’

  Jimi looked pleased with himself. ‘Well, for starters what do you think of the idea of boosting up the local film festival? I know it’s not Cannes − well, not yet anyway − but it would certainly offer another attraction to people who might not otherwise be drawn to the town. We’re carrying out a poll to see what everyone’s favourite films are, showing one runner-up each week and having a grand finale at Samphire where everyone can dress up, have a meal and watch the winner.’

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

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

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

  ‘Miss Watling?’

  Harry nodded.

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

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

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

  Chapter Sixteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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