Page 33 of Summer at Harbour View House
The door opened and a man in a suit walked in, a clipboard under his arm. He was about thirty-five, and had a long, narrow face with small, beady eyes. When he smiled at Lizzie it was humourless, almost sarcastic.
‘You know what they say about the devil,’ Lizzie said under her breath, then straightened up. ‘Paul. What can I get you?’
‘You know I don’t drink on duty,’ Paul said. ‘But a glass of water would be most pleasant while we conduct our conversation.’
Lizzie took a glass off a rack, filled it with water from a tap, then sat it down with a hard thump on the bar. ‘Pound,’ she said.
Paul frowned, then reached into his pocket. ‘Your desperation hangs over you like a cloud,’ he said, putting a pound coin down on the bar. ‘I feel loath to contribute towards extending your sentence, but it’s sociable to conduct business over a drink, isn’t it?’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘Maybe not yet,’ Paul said. ‘But soon you will. And it’s only one word that I want to hear. The word “yes”.’ He set the clipboard down on the bar. ‘Just take a look. I’ve increased my bid. Soon even an old barnacle like yourself will be prised free. It’s only a matter of time, Lizzie.’
‘Choke on your water, then get out of my pub,’ Lizzie said.
‘Your pub,’ Paul said, stroking his chin. ‘It sounds nice, doesn’t it? Enjoy it while you can, won’t you?’ He put one elbow on the bar and leaned towards her, and for a moment Natasha thought he might break into some jazz contralto. Then he said, ‘You know, until last week, Roger Theaksbury was calling Castle Lodge “my house”, but now he’s calling it “your house”. See how things change?’
‘Rog didn’t go and sell to you?’
Paul tapped a fingernail—creepily long, Natasha thought—on the bar. ‘Oh, he did. You see, the price was right for him. And it will be soon for you, too. You know I’m petitioning the council to reassess the council tax bands in the area, don’t you? You’re all long overdue a raise.’
‘You’re a fiend, Paul. What did we ever do to you?’
Paul narrowed his beady little eyes. ‘Oh, lots of things. But I’m not petty. It’s all water under the bridge. Just take a look at my terms, that’s all I ask.’
‘Take your clipboard and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Now drink up and get out of my pub.’
‘My pub, my pub, my pub,’ Paul echoed, then picked up the glass and downed the water, before lifting the glass up to his eyes and frowning. ‘Have you had your pipes inspected recently? Another little bill in the offing, isn’t it? How long can you hold out, Lizzie?’
‘Get out of here.’
‘My pub,’ Paul said, standing up. ‘My pub. Yes, it does sound nice. And it will be … very soon.’
He went out through the door into the next room, then a few seconds later they heard him in the corridor by the main entrance, singing softly to himself. ‘My pub, my pub, it’s myyyyy pub….’
Lizzie was shaking. She pulled a glass off a shelf and poured herself a large brandy. She downed it in one swallow, then poured another, before pouring a third and putting it down in front of Natasha.
‘On the house,’ she said. ‘I apologise for the poor company.’
‘Thanks, but you don’t have to. Who was that man?’
‘Used to be local. Paul Stoat. Of course, we call him The Weasel. Never really fitted in round here. His family were local troublemakers, no one was sad to see them go. The Weasel, though, he made it big in property up in London, then came back down for his revenge. He’s been on a mission to turn Pinkle into a glass palace resort ever since. And the sad thing is, that when he offers the kind of money he does, most locals can’t resist.’
‘That’s a shame.’
Lizzie chuckled. ‘Not to worry, though. We’ll be all right. Tomorrow the camp site opens up in Jago’s field.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘The start of high season.’
12
Jumping off Cliffs and a New Arrival
Winter Vale Beach,the name given to the narrow triangle of sand squeezed into the tiny cove adjacent to Penkoe harbour, was so named because of the sand’s rather gloomy colour, Davey, who had accompanied Natasha and Hannah on their first beach trip, claimed. Backing it up, was the fact that the cove’s steep cliffs on either side left it with approximately two hours less sunlight than the nearby village.
There were no amenities other than an ancient toilet built forty years before by the Penkoe Parish Council, and a patch of mown grass at the beachhead which served as a car park. In summer, locals volunteered to do lifeguard duty, but with the nearest shop being over the hill in Penkoe harbour and the unreliability of the toilet, anyone with a car went further afield to the beaches at Carne or Gorran Haven.
However, as Davey explained, for six glorious weeks every summer, Winter Vale came alive. Jago rented out two fields further up the valley to campers, and The Rusty Anchor, Penkoe harbour, and Winter Vale Beach became their hotspots, filled with parties, good times, and beach barbeques.
‘They sound like hippies,’ Hannah said, pulling off her t-shirt to reveal a bikini that left little to the imagination, then shivered as the cool breeze got up, and put it back on again.
