The Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  Gina laughed; he hadn’t really been in any danger but the pair of them had ended up covered in dark sand. ‘Fair enough. So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?’

  ‘Ever been to Lanhydrock House?’

  She shook her head. She’d heard of the grand old stately home, of course; situated above the River Fowey, it was a popular tourist spot. Elena had called her up in great excitement one Sunday evening years ago, instructing her to switch on Antiques Roadshow because it had been filmed at Lanhydrock, so she knew it was an impressive building. ‘You worked on the restoration?’ she asked Ben.

  ‘Some of it,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you which bits, if you like? Consider it a reference.’

  ‘I don’t need a reference,’ Gina replied, smiling. ‘I’ve seen the quality of your work already, remember, at the station. I already know you’re the best.’

  He didn’t answer but Gina thought he looked pleased with the compliment. ‘There’s something else, too. We’ll walk from Bodmin Parkway station but I thought it might be nice to travel there in style.’

  ‘The steam train,’ Gina guessed, feeling a little burst of delight. ‘We’re going on the Bodmin and Wenford Railway, right?’

  Ben nodded. ‘If we catch the eleven-thirty from Boscarne Junction, I can show you the rest of the line. It might help with the funding application and it’s a lovely journey.’ He glanced at her. ‘But we don’t have to if you don’t fancy it. We can drive straight to Bodmin if you’re pushed for time.’

  Gina thought back to the day she’d arrived in Cornwall, when she’d stepped off the train from London to be enveloped by a cloud of coal-scented steam from the old-fashioned engine at the next platform. She’d felt a strange impulse to take the steam train instead of the taxi she’d planned. The impulse had faded but now the desire to while away half an hour on the velvet seats, gazing out of the window and swaying with the gentle motion of the chugging train, was back. ‘It’s a great idea, Ben. I’d love to.’

  They left the van at the Camel Trail car park, named after the river that flowed nearby, and walked the short distance to Boscarne Junction station.

  ‘There’s no ticket office,’ Gina observed, frowning at the small waiting room and empty platforms. ‘Did there use to be?’

  ‘No, there’s never been a ticket office here,’ Ben said. ‘You need to get tickets from Bodmin General. I popped in there yesterday and got yours – volunteers travel for free so I don’t actually need a ticket.’

  A puff of steam became visible in the distance. He checked his watch. ‘Looks like they’re running on time today.’

  Stepping on board the almost-empty carriage was like a mini trip down memory lane for Gina. She was instantly transported back to her teenage days when she’d travelled from London and caught the steam train from Bodmin Parkway to be met by Nonna or Nonno at Boscarne Junction. She’d forgotten how much the smell of coal and oil and age permeated the seats.

  ‘It hasn’t changed at all,’ she said, as the whistle blew and the train jolted into life.

  ‘No, but that’s kind of the point,’ Ben said from the seat straight across from her. ‘Imagine the uproar if train enthusiasts didn’t get the authentic experience they came for.’

  She took in the look of boyish enthusiasm on his tanned face. ‘So, what do volunteers do?’

  ‘Pretty much everything,’ he said. ‘The Preservation Society is staffed by volunteers who run the whole line and maintain the engines. Almost everyone you’ll see is a volunteer – on the weekdays, it’s usually retired people but at the weekends there’s a real mixture.’

  ‘And what’s your job?’

  He shrugged. ‘It varies. Obviously, I like driving the trains the best but so does everyone else. Most of the time I’m doing odd jobs around the station buildings, keeping everything neat.’

  ‘And even though you do all that, they still won’t listen to your idea about extending the train line to Polwhipple?’

  Ben looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s not that they won’t listen, although some of the senior members are a bit stuck in their ways. It’s more that they can’t really afford the outlay, which is why our funding application is so important. If I can show them that they won’t have to spend a lot of money making it happen, the society might be more open to running trains to Polwhipple again.’

  Gina was about to ask who the senior members were when the train braked suddenly and she was thrown forwards. Ben steadied her, and for a heartbeat, she found herself almost in his arms. She glanced up, feeling her cheeks grow warm as his eyes met hers; the last time she’d been this close to him he’d kissed her.

  She pushed herself back into her seat, clearing her throat and brushing her hair from her face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself?’

  Gina shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine.’

  Apparently satisfied, Ben turned and peered out of the window towards the front of the train. ‘I bet they’ve got a rookie at the helm today. It’s not usually such a bumpy ride.’

  Staring out of the window, Gina waited for her jangling nerves to settle down. Her shoulders were tense and her stomach was still fizzing with adrenaline from the shock of the jolt. But that wasn’t what was troubling her the most; the thought that was racing round and round her head was the uncomfortable knowledge that in the split-second Ben had held her, she’d felt the strongest urge to lean forwards into his arms and kiss him. And worse than that was the unwavering certainty that Ben would have kissed her back. What was it Sarah had said – sometimes a situation could escalate . . .

  They didn’t talk much for the rest of the journey. Both kept their eyes fixed on the picturesque scenery rolling by the window, breaking the silence only to observe a particularly pretty aspect of the view. Gina stole glances at Ben when she knew he wouldn’t notice, feeling guilty each time she did so. They’d agreed after the last time that they’d got caught up in the romance of Brief Encounter – their costumes had even inadvertently reflected the lovelorn Laura and Alec from the film – and that the kiss had been a mistake. So why was Gina allowing herself to fantasise about kissing Ben again? And what did it mean for her relationship with Max?

  Her stormy thoughts continued as they left the train at Bodmin Parkway and followed the signs for the footpath to Lanhydrock.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ Ben observed as they took the bridge that crossed the River Fowey. ‘Everything all right?’

  Gina dredged up a smile; clearly Ben had forgotten the fleeting moment on the train and that was exactly what she needed to do. ‘Miles away, sorry.’ She waved a hand at the wooded path ahead, where the trees were slowly unfurling glossy spring leaves. ‘This is lovely.’

  ‘It’s a nice walk, especially at this time of year,’ he agreed. ‘The path doesn’t look too muddy, either. Maybe you won’t have to rescue me after all.’

  She managed another smile. ‘Good.’

  She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths as they walked, concentrating on putting one foot in front of another and focusing on the swirling patterns of the tree bark to either side, the fresh smell of new leaves and the gentle rushing of the river as it ran alongside the path. Sunshine filtered through the trees, dappling the ground, and slowly, Gina felt herself start to relax. Ben seemed to sense her change in mood because he began to talk, describing the work he’d been involved in at Lanhydrock. Gina kept her eyes on the path and listened, finding his descriptions of breathing new life into the worn building fascinating; his obvious enthusiasm for his work shone through and although she knew he’d never say as much, he was quite clearly a master of his craft. But she knew how much he loved restoring old things already; the attention to detail he’d lavished on the converted railway carriage he called home told her that, to say nothing of the care he’d taken with the station.

  There were one or two muddy stretches of path to negotiate but after about twenty minutes they reached
a break in the trees, through which Gina thought she saw the glimmer of parked cars.

  ‘Respryn Bridge is just up ahead,’ Ben explained. ‘It’s a popular spot with ramblers so there’s a car park there. Just beyond that is the Avenue, which leads to Lanhydrock House.’

  The Avenue turned out to be a long carriageway that led to an impressively gothic-looking gatehouse. Gina bought herself a ticket – she was not surprised to see that Ben had National Trust membership – and they passed beneath the arches towards the imposing grey-brick house. It presided over gravel paths and formal gardens with a majestic air, its leaded windows surrounded by thick-leaved ivy. To the right, Gina could see a church steeple standing proud above the rooftop of the sprawling house.

  ‘Wow,’ she said.

  Ben grinned at her. ‘It’s even more incredible inside.’ He nodded towards the arched front door. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Gina said, grinning back. ‘Show me the money.’

  Chapter Five

  Ben had not been wrong, Gina thought, as they strolled through room after sumptuous room inside Lanhydrock; the house was filled with breathtaking delights. One corridor had a pristine Art Deco design stretching overhead, but her favourite was the long, wood-panelled gallery with its ornate plaster ceiling, which Ben told her he’d worked on restoring.

  ‘They filmed a version of Twelfth Night here,’ he told her as they passed beneath the curved ceiling. ‘The one with Helena Bonham-Carter and Ben Kingsley in it.’

  Gina raised her eyebrows. She knew Ben loved films but she’d never had him down as a fan of Shakespeare.

  ‘We watched it at school,’ he said, noticing her unspoken query. ‘Don’t ask me what happens, though. I was too busy admiring the architecture.’

  The below-stairs rooms were impressive too, Gina decided as they roamed the kitchens and servants’ quarters; she liked imagining the staff working there, gossiping and grumbling about their employers in the grand rooms upstairs.

  They rounded off the visit with tea and sandwiches and then set off back to the station. The sun was warm and the scenery even prettier in the glow of the afternoon; Gina wasn’t sure whether it was due to the buzz from the exercise or Ben’s company but she found herself enjoying the walk immensely and she was sorry when they reached Bodmin Parkway. Ben introduced her to some of the volunteers, who gave her a tour of the signal room and ticket office.

  ‘I’m hoping some of them will want to come and work at Polwhipple station, if we get the funding,’ Ben murmured, as they listened to an enthusiastic white-haired man explain the inner workings of the ticket machine. ‘They’re a good bunch.’

  Gina was even sorrier when Ben parked the van outside the door of her apartment. ‘Thanks for today, Ben. I had a really lovely time.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled. ‘I did too.’

  A small, natural silence grew, during which Gina knew she should simply turn and get out of the van. ‘Gorran is arranging a private viewing of Singin’ in the Rain for me one afternoon at the Palace. Want to share some popcorn and join me?’

  His face lit up. ‘That sounds great. Let me know when and I’ll be there.’

  ‘Are you busy on Saturday?’

  Ben pulled a face. ‘I’ve got something on. But Sunday is okay.’

  ‘I’ll have to ask Gorran,’ Gina said doubtfully. ‘Tash has to be there to run the projector and she might not want to work on her day off.’

  ‘I’ve got it on DVD,’ Ben said. ‘It was one of Mum’s favourites and I couldn’t face getting rid of it after she died. You could come over to my place instead?’

  Gina pictured the living room of Ben’s cosy railway carriage with its wing-backed armchairs facing a small flat-screen TV. ‘Okay,’ she said, nodding. ‘Nonno might even have some samples of his new gelato flavour by then too.’

  ‘Great – I’ll be around all day,’ Ben said. He reached into the back of the van and pulled out an A4 envelope, which he passed to Gina. ‘Before I forget, here’s my quote for the Palace refurbishment. Want me to email it over as well?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Gina said. ‘Thanks, Ben.’

  She opened the passenger door and climbed out. ‘See you on Sunday.’

  After dropping her rucksack into her apartment, Gina decided to call into Carrie’s Attic. Polwhipple’s beach glimmered in the sunshine and the Singin’ in the Rain posters that had appeared outside the Palace were bright and cheery. Gina paused for a moment to admire them as she passed by on her way to the vintage boutique.

  Word was clearly spreading about Carrie’s talent for finding amazing outfits; there were several shoppers browsing the rails when Gina pushed open the grey and pink door.

  ‘Hi Gina,’ Carrie said, standing beside the changing room, her arms full of clothes. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  ‘No rush,’ Gina called, more than happy to browse. She’d need Carrie’s expert help to source her Singin’ in the Rain costume but the shop had plenty of other temptations. Pulling out a little black dress that reminded her of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she held it up against herself and studied her reflection in one of the full-length mirrors on the wall.

  ‘Now that would look amazing on you,’ Carrie said to her, passing a silky Grace Kelly-style dress through the curtain to the unseen customer in the changing room. She sighed and studied Gina’s slender figure with undisguised envy. ‘But then anything would look good on you.’

  Gina laughed. ‘That’s not true. Believe me, there are plenty of fashion disasters hiding in my wardrobe back in London. Just ask Max next time you see him.’

  The curtain was pulled abruptly back and a vision of cool blonde elegance stepped out. Gina frowned for a moment, unable to place the twenty-something woman and then it clicked: it was Rose Arundell, the woman who’d draped herself possessively around Ben at the Brief Encounter screening as though he was her personal property.

  The look Rose gave Gina was icy. ‘I don’t think you’ve quite got the waist for that dress.’

  There was a busy silence, the kind that reminded Gina of a scene from a Spaghetti Western, when a fight was brewing and all the locals scattered. The other customers became deeply engrossed in the clothes on the rails and one of them hurried for the door. Gina took a deep breath and plastered a bland smile on her face. ‘You’re probably right.’

  Unsmiling, Rose turned to Carrie. ‘I’ll take this, thanks. And you’ll source the other dress I asked for?’

  Carrie gave an awkward smile. ‘Of course. I’ll let you know once I’ve found what you’re looking for.’

  Without so much as a glance at Gina, Rose swept back into the changing room. Carrie threw Gina an agonised look and began returning the outfits she was holding to the rails. A few minutes later, Rose was holding out a platinum credit card. Gina kept her gaze firmly on a blue dress that reminded her of Jackie Kennedy until she heard the bell above the door tinkle, suggesting that Rose was gone.

  Carrie scurried over. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Rose can be a bit of a cow but she’s also one of my best customers.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Gina replied, brushing Carrie’s concerns away. ‘I’m a big girl, I can take an insult or two.’

  ‘She was wrong, anyway,’ Carrie said, pulling the black dress from the rail and pushing it towards Gina. ‘Go and try it on.’

  Gina shook her head. ‘Maybe another day. I only came in to talk to you about an outfit for Singin’ in the Rain. I haven’t watched it again yet but time is slipping by – how long do you need to find the Cyd Charisse dress for me?’

  Carrie flourished a hand. ‘Already done. But I should warn you, I think Rose is coming to the screening too. She’s asked me to source a Lina Lamont outfit for her.’

  Gina frowned. Lina Lamont was the leading lady who thought Gene Kelly was in love with her, a nasty piece of work who tried to take over the whole film studio. ‘Sounds like the perfect role fo
r her,’ she said, and a muffled snigger from one of the women browsing immediately made her feel bad. She pulled a face at Carrie. ‘Sorry, I know she’s a customer. I’m not normally so bitchy.’

  ‘Trust me, Rose Arundell is cold enough to bring out the bitch in all of us,’ Carrie sympathised. ‘Your dress is due to arrive on Monday – want to pop in and try it on?’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ Gina said, forcing an image of Rose’s sneering expression from her mind.

  She left Carrie to her customers and set off for home. As she rounded the Palace, she caught sight of a red Audi TT zooming across the car park. This time, however, she had a clear view of the driver: Rose Arundell.

  Gina gasped. ‘I might have known!’

  Manda was watching from the window of Ferrelli’s. ‘Huh,’ she called to Gina. ‘Apparently, things like speed limits don’t apply to Rose. Her mum’s on the town council and she thinks that makes her a VIP around these parts.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure she drove through a puddle on purpose to give me a soaking the other night,’ Gina said, glaring after the disappearing Audi.

  Manda seemed unsurprised. ‘Like I said, she thinks she’s a cut above. I dare say she’s annoyed about you being so friendly with Ben Pascoe – he’s another thing she thinks is hers by right.’

  Gina thought back to the frosty look of dislike Rose had given her in the shop. ‘You know, I think you’re right, Manda. That explains a lot.’

  ‘Shame Ben’s got no time for her,’ Manda said, her tone cheerful. She winked at Gina. ‘He’s got better taste, thank goodness.’

  It was meant as a compliment, Gina knew, but she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. She changed the subject. ‘Got your costume for Singin’ in the Rain?’ she asked, waving towards the bright posters Gorran had mounted in the rectangular casings on the Palace walls.

  Manda gave her a self-satisfied grin. ‘Of course – I’m coming as one of those pink-frocked dancers with the swimming caps on their heads.’ She pointed at the Strawberry Sensation gelato in the display case. ‘I’ll look just like a cornet.’