Page 3 of Love By Sunset

Brian shook his head. ‘Only if there’s a will.’

‘Maybe I could buy it, then? Separately?’

‘Maybe.’ Dave looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know if it has to be sold as one lot or if the solicitor dealing with it would sell to you. But it would probably cost you an arm and a leg. Could you afford it?’

Jake fell silent again. He had four houses, none of them large, but all bringing in a steady rental. He could sell those and maybe raise enough money to buy the café. Except it wasn’t just the café, was it? It was the carpark and access road, leading to one of the best beaches in the area. And old Henry Whitchurch had always advised him to keep his property as a safeguard, a sort of pension. Oh, hell! Why hadn’t he enquired earlier, shortly after Henry’s funeral? Except he hadn’t wanted to appear pushy or greedy, marching in somewhere saying hey, the café’s mine. It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway because it looked as if he’d been left high and dry, and it was only his word the café had been promised to him.

CHAPTER3

Emily had slept well.The night had been warm enough that she could leave her window open to the gentle sea breeze and the susurration of the waves on the beach across the road. Clear-eyed and awake early, she went down to breakfast. Later that morning, she was meeting the Greenall’s representative at the house, but for the next hour, she wanted to look round the small town of Solhaven.

As a child, she’d thought it a magical place, full of ice-cream parlours, and shops with dimly lit interiors which sold buckets and spades, flags, shells, and other exciting holiday paraphernalia, piled in haphazard heaps. Her family had returned here every year until she was fifteen, when they chose package holidays instead, guaranteeing them two weeks of sunshine. A shame, because those holidays never seemed as wonderful as the earlier ones spent at Solhaven.

Today, despite the early autumn sunshine sparkling in the waves and the small beaches of golden sand tucked away on either side of the little town, Solhaven had an air of sadness.

Some shops were standing empty, and the remaining souvenir shops and the couple of cafes Emily saw seemed run-down. If ever an area needed money injecting into it, this place was top of the list. South of the town, for about forty miles, there were no further developments apart from a few tiny villages, and the coast was a well-guarded treasure, protected by Beautiful Coast Trust status, with no building allowed. There would probably be little objection to a small holiday village, a golf course, an indoor and outdoor swimming centre, a hotel… she ran Gerry’s ideas through her head, added in a spa and health centre, and maybe even a water sports centre.

Looking at the sea, she recalled her surfer from yesterday, and the unexpected link she’d felt to him. Oh, yes, a water sports centre was a definite idea. Emily glanced at her watch. Time to meet the Greenall’s agent at Haven House.

After driving through an avenue of lime trees with orange and russet tinted leaves, she emerged into the open and saw, below her, Haven House. This was the part of the Solhaven estate they thought might make a boutique hotel. It sat, a large and solid Victorian house, built of a greyish stone, with two enormous bay windows on either side of a massive front door, and had several large sash windows running above. Slowing, she appraised it, and decided it suited their plans well. Gardens, which ran down to low cliffs, surrounded it. She knew there was a beach access, which would be essential for the hotel idea, and there was some sort of building down near the shore, oddly called Gardener’s Cottage. But then, she supposed, itwasat the bottom of the gardens.

Reaching the gravelled forecourt, Emily parked next to a car she assumed was Lucy Mitchell’s, the name Sasha had emailed through as the Greenall’s representative. As she got out, a solid lady with greying hair appeared from round the far side of the house, a smile on her face. ‘Ms Delamere?’

‘Hi. Please, Emily will do. I assume you’re Ms Mitchell?’

‘I am, but like you, I’ll go with my first name, Lucy. Do you want to go straight in, or have a look round the outside first?’

‘Oh, round the outside of the house, please, but we’ll leave the gardens for now. And thank you for seeing me. The advert of the estate sale came to our attention rather suddenly, and we thought we’d like a nosy around in case we put in a bid. The house is Victorian, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. A rich industrialist from Birmingham built it as a summer home, and then it became his retirement home. The family dwindled, and the house needed quite a bit of repair when they sold it to Mr Whitchurch back in the seventies. Henry Whitchurch was relatively young, but he’d made a fortune developing early computer programs. No-one quite knew why he wanted such a large house, as there was only himself and his wife, but maybe they hoped to have children and it never happened.’ Lucy shrugged. ‘She died a few years ago. Before his death, Mr Whitchurch had sold off a lot of the farmlands, but he kept a strip along the coast and the café.’

‘I had a look at the café yesterday,’ Emily admitted. ‘Lovely situation, and a beautiful beach.’

‘It is, indeed. Now then, look. There’s a whole range of outbuildings here. A coach house, stables, store rooms. I don’t know what you’re planning to do…?’ Lucy paused and looked at Emily with curiosity written on her face.

Smiling, playing it cautiously, Emily was careful when she replied. ‘Not too sure, yet. We need to do a lot more consultation and discussion with various agencies.’ She moved forwards to open one of the massive doors leading into what had once been the coach house and was surprised to see two cars inside. They weren’t new, but looked well-cared for and in running order. ‘Did you know there are cars here?’

‘Yes, they were old Mr Whitchurch’s. He still drove, but only into Solhaven. Apparently, he’d been intending to go into town the morning he had his attack. He dialled 999 from the car, and that’s where they found him.’

‘Oh, poor man. He must have been frightened, being alone.’

‘He was pretty stalwart. Still conscious when the ambulance arrived, but it was touch and go all the way to the hospital, and he died soon after being admitted.’

Emily stood in silent contemplation of Henry Whitchurch’s sad death, then gave a quick shake of her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

Lucy moved into the centre of the yard. ‘The entire house is still furnished. The nephew didn’t want any mementos. He’d never met Henry, and although he was sorry about his death, he saw little point in coming over here to oversee the sale. We can auction off the contents.’

Emily’s eyebrows rose as she nodded. That might be of interest, if there were any period items. It would be rather lovely, if they made this a hotel, to keep a Victorian theme inside and out. Wandering through the cobbled yard, deep in thought, she pulled open another couple of doors to see tidied but dusty and cobwebbed rooms lit by tall windows in need of a good clean. There was a lingering smell of hay in one, and in another, a few wooden boxes were haphazardly stacked in a corner.

They went through a door set in a high wall and found themselves in the gardens at the back of the house, sadly in need of attention. They sloped gently away from the house, and from the flagged terrace it was possible to see a sweep of glittering sea. Idyllic.

Lucy chattered on. ‘He and his wife joined in all the neighbourhood activities. Held a summer fete in the grounds every year. And they were very supportive of a local boy who had talents as a surfer. There wasn’t much cash in the family to support him to the level he wanted to get to. Rather sadly, his father was terminally ill with cancer. So Henry and his wife stepped in.’

Emily smiled, a wry expression on her face. Surfers every which way she turned, it seemed. ‘Was their support justified?’

‘Oh, yes. Quite the celebrity, Jake Bradstock. Well, he was, before his accident. English champion for several years running, and made it to some sort of world champion once, although it meant a lot of time abroad for practice and training that year. There was a great deal of local excitement about it. You know, I think Jake was like a son to him.’

‘You mentioned an accident?’ They were walking back round to the front of the house now. The name Jake niggled in Emily’s mind. She’d heard it or seen it recently…

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